Sinister: Agent Wagon Wheel

[P F]

I'm waiting.

The last farewell was -

start again.

The first picnic of 2001 was effective in the extreme.
The organizers were not where they had told everyone
to be at two o'clock, which was appropriate. I wasn't
where I had told anyone to be either. I was on time,
mind; from time down to mind.

I remember that day / I was reading a book / By Ernest
Hemingway / She signed it / In her handwriting / Then
she went off and became a librarian.

Ah: it's middle-of-the-adult, road-oriented rock; but
still it moves me.

That reminds me: someone in NYC said that 'Spring
Rain'
was country&western. I was about to say: never argue
with Ally96 about the Go-Betweens. Then I remembered
that that's all that Ally96 and I ever do. Still, I'm
on his side: rootsyish, maybe; full-on country, no. If
I'm not mistaken, you misquoted '100,000 Fireflies'.
Surely the line is 'sounds like a mountain range IN
LOVE', which is a heck of a lot more lateral (yet
still 'topographical') and thought-provoking than
'sounds like a mountain range to me'.

Lll Lll is starting a Pynchon support group. This will
involve people like us paying for Pynchon to carry on
shopping. He needs support, now he's retired. I have
read enough to Report Back on the phenomenology
of the banana stuff, and I'm afraid I have to say it's
overrated. Heck, it's the, um, Pet Sounds of Pynchon
moments; apart from all the other ones.

Plus, also, we should have a support group for
ex-Pynchonians - I mean, folk who thought they loved
Pynchon, but have just realized that they're *never
going to read him agaim*, cos he's too wacky. What
will they do with their lives? Bring out magazines and
stuff? I seriously doubt it.

People said they saw Finlay Quaye, Graham Coxon and
'the Aphex Twin', and, like, don't worry chuck, I
really admire their, like music.

I don't. Coxon has been involved with a few good
records, but is a goofy bastard. The others are worse
still. Sod 'em.

Look, stop distracting me. It's time to talk about the
picnic again. For instance, the way that David SS of
the SS had made loads of special biscuits. Where? At
his house. Think about it. I tried. Then I stopped.

The way that daf m turned up brandishing computer
print-outs and asked me to comment on them. I was
happy to do so. That's an understatement. I was
*merry* to do so.

Campbell - not that one; no, not that one; no! not
that one either - look - *another* one, OK? - yes,
*that* one - gave the lead. Coventry Crumble as Sad
Strach Sobs.

There was a mysterious presence off of the I Love
Music pages of the Freaky Tigger tiger-breeding
empire. He was incognito. It was a cameo, if you catch
my drift. It was Primroses or Jasmine, sinister
village or the Japanese Embassy. He admitted that
Lloyd Cole had been consistently Lloyd Cole. More than
this I had better not say; I can't afford to blow his
cover. Mind you, I don't know what I'm talking about -

-----------------------------

96 INTERLUDE 

I don't know what I'm talking about. Somebody does.
Perhaps. But they're not telling. They're just
banking. Somebody has to do it. Don't they? Maybe not.
We wondered about it. We're still not sure. We're
still standing. That can't be said about Elena,
though.

-------------------------

no, I don't know what I'm talking about, here, because
plenty of people were banging - and I mean, 'banging';
this was a *picnic*, for goodness' sake - on about
their intention to buy the S********' LP. I mean,
there was even someone who was slagging off Lloyd Cole
while declaring that intention. What this means is
only hitting me the next day. What does it mean? Ow.

Someone went mincing, I mean, camping, I mean,
walking, I mean, hiking. Let's offroad. It's gripped.
And that's just the handle.

Cazza looked unusually tough. Various posters were
putty in his hand, which makes a change from china.
Somewhere in China turned out to be better than
Cabbage Patch Man thought. By the end of that debate -
surely the best of its kind since April 1999 - even
Cabbage Boy had to admit this, though the Foxgloves
also accepted his point about cover versions covering
one's perception of a song. Really, cabbage, you made
your point and you did it well. There's nothing to be
ashamed of. Not that much, anyway.

Larry is not a toy he is my friend.

I have to hand it to Marvel, the original Agent Wagon
Wheel - catch my drift? - who scored a hat-trick and
had it stolen from him. By whom? I'm not sure. Could
it have been the boy G? Someone told me that the boy G
was an 80s revivalist, but that's not such a bad
thing. I know a couple of 80s fans myself. And they're
aliens.

Tigermilking was enjoyable. And that's saying
something. I think I finally know what the FT bods
mean by a 'Scooby record'.

On Sunday we worked out who had plastered the
billboards of the 1990s. Now we're past 1990, we need
to know these things. Actually, darn it, I've managed
to miss out Laura Cantrell, haven't I? Laura Cantrell,
who has an initial-sharing arrangement with Lloyd
Cole, sings songs a bit like 'Spring Rain', I mean,
country songs. It's possible to sing along with her
'Churches On The Interstate' in an appropriately deep
voice if you've had a few ices first. We did. Really,
I have a lot of time for Cantrell. After that I'm
afraid we had to give 'Long Vermont Roads' another
spin. I seriously have come to feel that 'LVR' is one
of the great driving songs. That's what you would
expect it to be, I admit. There's not much
counter-intuition going on here. In that respect I'm
just trespassing on your valuable spades. The roads
are dark and long.

So, like I say, David Thomson got his turn. Tarantino
got his turn in the grey winter sun of May, for
goodness' sake. Remember him? Northern Soul as the
other of 'Southern Man'. After that it all went a bit
pea-shaped. Some people wouldn't even give peas a
chance. We needed to up the potato intake; they seemed
to understand. Cabbage Man behaved himself. We thought
under clouds about utilitarian designs, housing
estates, architecture, that kind of thing. In a boozer
the kids behaved themselves - unusually well, I
thought, for such a bunch of old lags. Marvel went
twisting by the pool table. Cookie looked unusually
photogenic flattened over his cue too. Certain people
I don't know were diuscussed. Obviously I can't reveal
any details. That would be out of the question. Oh,
lemur. If we carry on like this we won't need Peter
Miller anymore. And then what would become of us? We'd
get covered in black bean sauce and fed to the ducks.
We are only prawns in their game.

It's not over. I'm not even waiting any more. They
are.


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