Sinister: Jefferson, I think we're lost

[Alasdair Cook]

I've been away again. But not for quite as long. I'm sure you're glad.

Hey! Sinister! You're my best mate.. (sob).

While I was away, England put a lucky five past the worst German team in 
history, and the Flying Dutchman Richard Gillanders posted. Crikey, that boy 
uses more sentences than I. Do. Wow. He deserves a tape for that.

Picnic photos. Some points:

Carsmile: Stop looking silly. It suits you far too much.

Cazza: Move! I wanna see that dress! Wowser!

Kenneth looks startlingly like Keith watson. I was startled. Fair dos 
though, I mean, we'd all like to, wouldn't we girls?

CONVERSATION FEAR

The other night, I went to a 'party'. I say it like this only because, at a 
party you are supposed to meet new and interesting people. Or at least new 
people. Aren't you? I didn't meet any new people, but I found all of them 
interesting.

We listened to Tigermilk. My goodness, it's a good album, isn't it? I 
wouldn't have chosen to listen to it at all, only it happened to be lying on 
top of the stereo at the time. I thought "this feels like 1996", or at least 
how I imagine 1996 to have felt. For all the romance that surrounds that 
year, I didn't go to parties and I didn't listen to Belle and Sebastian 
records. In fact I didn't do very much, except watch Scotland outplay 
England for a whole half.

During the week I bought some records, which I'm very pleased with. There 
were some albums, which were very reasonable, and two singles, which were:

'Cattle And Cane/Heaven says' - The Go-Betweens. G McLennan, 1983.

'How Will I Know/Someone For Me' - Whitney Houston. G Merrill, S Rubicam, NM 
Walden/R Jones, F washington, 1985.

Which both excite me like nothing else, which is why music is my favourite 
art. You can only dance to one of them though.

These are only two of the great single of the eighties. Some day Steady Mike 
might tell us what the others are, but he'll probably wait until we're all 
dead before he reveals his secret notebooks. When Mr and Mrs SM go 'home', 
does Berry cross the Mersey?

Here's The PF89:

>>My girlfriend told me to write this. She also told
>>me to write that she told me to write this.

>She told me that you were not into vegetables. But she
>didn't tell me to write it.

She's right. When she sprung a leek on me I almost carrotted her.

>No. But I know your address. I also know an REM song
>that says 'Here's my new address'. Is it 'Letter Never
>Sent'? I like that bridge.

You're right, it is. I just listened to it. Is it better than the bridge 
over the river Kwai though? How about the bridge over troubled water? Or 
even, to be parochial for just a second, the bridge over the Clyde? How did 
The Care Bear describe it? I wish I could remember. Oh wait, I don't need 
to:

"..a big slithering brawny dark
churning intimidating bottomless beautiful thing"

Braw. The girl has a way with words. Usually she just spits them at me 
though.

>We should talk more about
>old, good REM songs. Like 'Little America' or - darn
>it, I cannot remember the name of the one I want to
>mention. Something about a canyon?

You've lost me on that one, I'm afraid. But yes, 'Little America' is good; 
the double reference in THAT line, whatever else that might go along with 
it: let's talk about, oh, the end of 'So. Central Rain', or the extra guitar 
part in the final verse of 'Harborcoat', or the beginning of 'Carnival Of 
Sorts', the way those four breathless souls all rush in at once, with the 
coolness of touch and the confidence of youth, like that photo of Mills on 
the back of the second album.

This is a good subject, I think. And I haven't even talked about the first 
album yet.

>I think I started to think your mail was
>a bit spoky

I think I see what you mean. It went in lots of different directions? It 
kept spinning on? Undoubtably, this is one of your better verbs.

I don't think I've enjoyed a David Moore post as much for a while. That 
sentence may be badly constructed. Anyway, his last one was vee gee, as Mr 
Murdoch is fond of saying. For him, a definition. David, not Stuart, of 
course.

Clatty: Adj. Dirty, smelly, or generally unpleasant in the area of hygiene.

The Canadian's post was also nice. I look forward to the return of her fuzzy 
trousers and poor organisational skills. Top lass.

I just realised what day it is. And it almost floored me. I'm stunned.

Alasdair xx


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