Sinister: I am not a rock band

[Daplyn Elizabeth]

...but I R!O!C!K! the house.

  No, really, I do.  Ask anyone.  Anyone who was around these parts back
in the days of yore when I occasionally posted, that is.  I've been here
off and on since before I was universally challenged, which is a good
five years now.  Crikey.  Still, entering the ranks of (temporary)
corporate whoredom (oo-er Ms) has the advantage of free email, as does
having a desk at which no-one can overlook what I'm doing on my
computer.  So, emerging from the nursery once more like a
sartorially-challenged butterfly, here I am.

  People who were loafing around Camden last Saturday will have seen me,
myself and my big black jumper inhabiting the pub for a few hours.  It's
funny how recently I've been regressing to my adolescent practice of
dressing nearly entirely in black, but with rather less of a crippling
sense of self-consciousness.  Still acutely self-conscious, just not
crippled by it anymore - only mildly sprained, as Minnie Driver said in
Grosse Point Blank.  Anyway, good pubnic, y'all.  I still want to know
who
was using yer man Ken's buttocks as a pillow later that night, though.
Curse
Shepherd's Bush and all its housewarming parties!

  Will Salt (or Salty Will - heh - an epithet surely applicable to an
ancient bluesman of the highest stamp) = very blond, no?  It occurred to
me while supping a tasty pint of apple derivative on Saturday that (from
my own observations) Sinister is predominantly brunette, unless there
are hordes of platinum starlets out therre who haven't been showing
themselves.  After all, the best looking girls might _well_ be staying
at home ;P
  However, this means that I call on Miss Juicy Lucy Alder to once again
renounce her more-or-less natural hair colour and hit the bleach in
order to redress this balance somewhat.  I would, but my hair is
alarming enough without making it light up at night.

To segue non-secretarially:
  Anyone (with better-than-average taste) who heard tompaulin in session
on John Peel the other night will have been thrilled by their wry
loveliness.  Is there *by any chance* anyone in the house who can tell
us if there is any associated product available for us to waste our
pocket money on?  I have my suspicions...
  It's odd, but no matter what combination of twisty reggae, twee
techno, and wailings of skinny boys lamenting their lovelessness that Mr
Peel plays of an evening, I never fail to be soothed, unlike the effect
of the medulla-crushing arse (now _there's_ an arresting visual, if you
like) that is currently spewing out of the office radio.  John Peel
should be marketed as a comforting blanket.  No, wait, he already is...

  Vandalised bus shelters are, conversely, not reminiscent of comforting
blankets at all.  They can be startlingly beautiful, though, what with
scattered cubes of safety glass scattered around ('Hackney diamonds', I
read somewhere) or crazed mandala patterns radiating from the focal
points of not-quite-hard-enough blows and looking like imitations of
gorgeous spiderwebs laid down by secret crafty hands.  But it might just
be me that likes them.

  I've spent considerably more than 15 minutes composing this, as I was
dragged off to a BIG GROWNUP MEETING halfway through.  Criminy!
Deathless prose it ain't, but I'll inflict it on you anyway.

  Love and shenanigins,
    Liz D :x

*i think that i shall never see
a person lovely as a tree*
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 +-+       "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper           +-+
 +-+  "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
 +-+    "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000     +-+
 +-+  "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000  +-+
 +-+  "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001   +-+
 +-+               Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa                 +-+
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