Sinister: seeing other people's private bits

[Stankin' Cooter]

My lovelies:

I'm spending all my recent days and nights in a grey and beige office. The 
scurrying of sinister little feet through my inbox manages, every once in a 
while, to break the trancelike state of exhausted delirium in which I find 
myself working. For which I thank you. I've recently ordered a whole bunch 
of belle and sebastian related rubbish to clutter the place up with, so 
maybe that'll help make things a little more human around here.

I've saved this post up for a while, after failing the Dalai Lama/Cliff 
Richard test a couple of times in recent weeks, so it may be a little on the 
hefty side. I'll provide a packed lunch with the next one, I promise.

SHOULD B&S BE A POP GROUP?
Well, frankly, it doesn't bother me too much. I think that pandering to 
wider tastes is often the beginning of the end, but it usually seems to 
happen when songwriters in bands run out of things to write songs about, 
other than being songwriters in bands. I don't see too much danger of that 
happening in this case. You might disagree: please do so, I don't know very 
much.

I can't imagine that any sort of artist wouldn't want to find their 
audience. If they're able to go on doing what they're doing, and reach 
increasingly more people, it'd be churlish to grizzle. Also, I can't help 
but warm to the people in this particular band, and want them to do well for 
themselves out of it.

I'd actually quite like to see some 'good old fashioned rock 'n' roll 
excess' from them, in the later years: massive weight gain, trashed hotel 
rooms, legions of illegitimate children all over the world, brandy balloons 
full of brown m&m's, that sort of thing. Stuart may love his car, but I'll 
bet he's at least once wondered what it would look like at the bottom of a 
hotel pool.

Or maybe not.

B&S DAY
Well, in the absence of either any free time, or any likeminded souls in my 
little neck of the woods, I spent it here in the office, intermittently 
working, but also skiving off in #sinister quite a bit. I'll do better next 
year, I promise.

Oh, and seeing a couple more picnic photos recently, I'm reminded once again 
that we may be a "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans", but we are, 
at the very least, a damned handsome "sick posse of f**ked in the head 
psycho-fans". Which makes all the difference.

ISOBEL'S ARSE PT TWO
I said something about Isobel's arse in my last post, and thanks very much 
to the kind listee who sent me a picture of it. I think Isobel's quite 
lovely, and I like her voice, even at its most hamsterish. About her arse, 
though, I've no further comment to make.

X-RAY SPECS
I was just thinking about these the other day. They advertised them on the 
back of children's comic books (do they still? I haven't seen one for a 
while), as something you could send money in and buy. I'm fairly certain 
that they didn't work. How on earth is that an acceptable thing to do? I 
think that it's more disillusioning than father christmas, the easter bunny 
and the tooth fairy all rolled into the one great big, jolly, hopping, 
frilly-skirted disappointment.

And you send money! Children's money, that should rightly be used to pay for 
bullies' lunches, or to get older siblings to buy cigarettes for them! 
Someone, somewhere, will be living off the money sent in by innocent 
children, in the rather sweet and naive belief that they'll get a chance to 
see other people's private bits.

Moral outrage isn't my strong suit, but I think that this happens to be the 
worst thing that anyone's done in the world, ever.

JUST QUICKLY
'That Sunday feeling' = the sort of slowly escalating panic associated with 
a long-overlooked task that you just can't put your finger on. Ghastly.

Winter = great. Scarves, soup and stout. And snuggling, for the lucky ones. 
Not me. But that means that I get an extra stout.

Girls in glasses = phwoar.

Toast = vegemite, obviously. Anything else is a waste of good bread. *ducks*

Ken Chu = the new black, it seems. He goes with anything. Actually, that 
sounds far ruder than I intended, but I'll leave it as is.

That should just about cover it. Stay deliciously crunch-tastic.

Bulk love,
     -Stankin' (call me Werther).

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