Sinister: Did I walk past a couple of sinisterines last night and not say hello?

[Gordon]

I was sort of aware of two persons walking past me and she asked the
other 'is that Gordon?' and I marched on and it was because I was at the
stage of looking pretty by a short sighted person at a distance and
stinking of Baileys-fuelled puke. All over my Jermyn St. tailored
Italian trousers. I'd been to see Heather Nova, and as the tension had
built up to her rather late appearance on stage I'd drunk close to a
bottle of the stuff and gee-whizz... it stinks. Sang a bee-gees cover as
an encore. Staying Alive? Is that the bee-gees? All earlier. By the time
I was walking up past the city chambers it was after having done three
other things, kinda gestural and desperate. I laid meeself down to sleep
on the steps of the art college, arm outstretched. 'Must be a heroin
addict' 'Must be a student' I heard voices say untill I was offered an
ambulance then I walked to the Royal Infirmary where I was told to call
the Samaratins cos the doctor deals with 'broken bones and stuff'... no
wonder girls cut themselves in order to get attention. More guts than I
have. I simply throw mine up. Trying to explain, but I'm not incoherent
enough. I also explained that I was very, very drunk. I wandered into
the grounds of the Cathedral and to the gravelled sanctuary of the south
portal, but figured this was a bit too heavy, so I was walking back to
an hotel I'd reserved a room in, in Buchanan St., and that was as I was
walking past.
Fantanstic Dani Behr show on children's BBC1 this morning. The TV was
all fuzzy but no double vision, so I saw fat cartoon Sumi Wrestlers 'big
butts! big butts! the audience choruses, taking on exploding ballet
dancers and another show that had replicas from various movie scenes...
someone with puppy eyes and smart women around, all stealing the
Koh-I-Noor and a grey thing like a Pink Panther but... whoo a Green
Serpent that makes someone invisible.
Earlier than any of that, I decided to visit the Saracen's Head, as
recommended by Mr. Miller. I bought an L-size polo shirt for which
someone had to go down a trapdoor behind the bar to fetch. Someone's
writing a history of the establishment. Evidently, people send the
polo-shirts to relatives in Canada. I'll probably wash and iron mine and
send it to someone too.

Gordon

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