Sinister: shouting at people in the street

[Caitlin Pigtails]

Woo, two posts in two days.  I must calm down more.  I'm going to send 
another soon too, cos I promised Amy Applejacks that I'd do another 
Sinister Questionnaire to replace her abortive one.  But that will have 
to be for another day.

So, there was a gig here last night.  And, of course, if there's a gig 
then there has to be a Sinister Picnic before hand.

After checking that the permit from the International Picnic Licencing 
Authority had arrived, I went up to Princes St Gardens to see who had 
turned up.  Nobody had.  Fortunately, five minutes later, Sweetie 
appeared.  As soon as she did, it started raining.  Slowly, a few more 
people appeared, and we sheltered underneath the Scott Monument 
wondering what to do.

The obvious answer, of course, was to go to the pub, so we did.  We sat 
in the City Cafe and drank and ate, and more people arrived.  However, 
the City Cafe is a bit of a big pub by our standards.  I mean, we 
didn't actually outnumber and intimidate everyone else there.  So -- 
after a brief diversion to the railway station to meet another five 
people -- we went to a smaller pub, the Malt Shovel, and moved all the 
furniture about and took over a whole room.  More people arrived, and 
there was lots more eating, drinking and bum-groping.  "Cheapskates!" 
said the barmaid when she noticed we had brought our own crisps to eat 
instead of buying the pub's expensive ones; she stole a cookie from us, 
though.

About sevenish, we realised the doors of the gig would be opening, so 
we thought "maybe we should wander vaguely in that direction."  We 
split up, some staying to drink more, some wandering towards the gig 
via the chip shop.  Mmmm, grease.

Anyway, we were wandering vaguely towards the gig, below the castle.  
And ... I saw this man walking towards us.  He looks familiar.  I've 
seen him before somewhere.  Middle-aged, he looked, in a big brown 
duffelish coat.  We are a big, intimidating crowd of tweefolk, walking 
directly towards the B&S gig.  He is someone who looks astonishingly 
like Stuart.  I look closely at him: it must be him.  But noone else 
has noticed!  I prod everyone "wasn't that Stuart?!"  "Who?  That old 
man?" they reply.  He's fifty yards down the street now.  Someone turns 
and shouts back: "STUART!!!"  Up the street, he pauses.  He turns and 
waves, then carries on walking.

The gig itself was good, although for some reason it seemed slightly 
unreal compared to all the others I've seen; probably because we were 
standing right at the back dancing like maniacs (well, apart from me, 
cos I don't dance).  The mid-set audience request (Brown-Eyed Girl) 
seemed rather well rehearsed, probably because it was a requested by a 
couple who are getting married next week and had got in touch with the 
band already.  We still didn't get to find out the answers to the 
treasure hunt.  I really have no idea what the setlist was -- I can 
vaguely remember what songs were played, but not what order they were 
in or anything.  Ask someone less drunk for help.

Hello to everyone that I saw at the picnic and after: Sweetie, 
Idleberry, Andy from St. Andrews (who sounds scarily like Dylan Moran.  
If you're deaf like me), John and Peri (our men in Slovenia), Thomas 
and Julie (our men in Coatbridge), Gordon (our man in the white suit), 
Wide-Mouthed Mike, Breams, Rachel Sunnyset, Zozie, Paul and Lorna 
(silly!), Lucy (juicy!), David Moore, Lixi, Ailsa (retired, injured), 
Jo and Ian, Jo's Dad, Cal and Debbie, the famous Mr Ally Cooke, and 
anyone else I've forgotten about.

I hear a Cult Of Ken Chu has started up in London, complete with badges 
and everything.  Not before time, I say.


xx
caitlin



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