Sinister: a plastic bag, standing at the lights

[P F]

It's hotter than Emily Dickinson. How hot is that?

Out in Stevenage, it's raining. That's just a guess,
you understand. The old posters and football
magazines. A dusty shelf yields only a yellowing piece
of David Stubbs. *By* David Stubbs, that's the one.
There ought to be towns. There ought to be
photographs.

Mooro is the only person I know with a double-sided
B&S carrier bag. It's guid. That's the 'good'
equivalent of 'grate'.

Carsmile Steve seems to be getting younger as time
passes.

Rumours flitted that Kevan Cooke was writing to the
list under an alter ego. Yes, that one. See, Kevan,
we've got your number now.

(It's 0423-654-876.)

I have been listening to Cyndi Lauper. I like the line
on 'Girls... Fun': 'Oh, mother dear, we're not the
fortunate ones'. That could just about be Morrissey.

I like the melodic context and phrasing of the
apparently unremarkable line 'I think about you when
the night is cold and dark', also.

Tim Hopkins claims to have washed up for something
close to a living. I believe him. But I still think he
should take a tad more seriously my views on washing
up. I think that this activity is often performed
surprisingly poorly. That reminds me: there is a whole
strand of thinking to be done re. 'washing-up pop':
eg. Stevie T and 69 Love Songs / PF and Tigermilk,
etc. I wonder if anyone has anything to say about it?

Nobody seemed to notice, on Friday, that James Joyce
would have turned 119 if he'd still been alive.

If it's anyone's birthday, happy birthday. It is? Cor,
that was lucky.

After a draw with Boro and only a 1-0 reverse at Old
Trafford, I reckon Everton are on the way back. Up, I
mean. To future success, and so on.

The geezer Miller kept his end up with the usual
delightful knockabout stuff:

>>> I think it's atrocious. What do you think? It's a
debate.

I read the article, and felt that its good points were
simple. I agreed with much of the substance, didn't
care much for the style.

I have never liked Joy Division or Happy Mondays: but
I find myself surprisingly excited at the prospect of
TWENTY-FOUR HOUR PARTY PEOPLE. No?

It's all about form. The Eiffel Tower. Girders. That
sort of thing.


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