Sinister: Ribena Man

[Madeleine McNeil]

Jenowl's post turned my thoughts (as Jenowl's posts normally do) to Ribena, 
and I have been meaning to tell you all aboutmy friend's recent staggering 
anouncement that he has been leading a secret life. By day he is Ben, but by 
night he is.... RIBENA MAN, seaching out Vitamin C deficiency and thirsty 
indie kids wherever they may be.

Ben/Ribena Man says the clue to his secret identity is in his ordinary name: 
RiBENa. In which case, my secret identity should be Cake Woman, or maybe 
just a cake. Actually I've eaten so much stodge over Christmas that my 
secret identity as a cake is not so secret at all. I look like a big stodgey 
cake on legs. I digress. So, Ben felt able to reveal his identity to us on 
New Year's Eve. We were squished in the pub, drinking non-vitamin C-full 
drinks, so Ribena Man swooped. I gazed at him in awe. My eyes started their 
path at his feet - black boots, black and purple stripey tights ('pantyhose' 
to our American friends. God, I love that word. Pantyhose panythose 
pantyhose), black pants ('underwear' to our American cousins) over the 
tights and OH MY GOD! a sqeezy bottle of ribena attached right in the centre 
of his pants. On his crotch! Jeepers. Then an ammunition belt, complete with 
cartons of ribena attached to it for rapid deployment. A tight purple 
T-shirt, bearing the legend 'Ribena Man', complete with zig zags of purple 
lightning. Around his manly shoulders, a purple cape was draped. And, the 
final touch, a black mask over his eyes like Batman and Robin wear. He was 
the super hero of our dreams.

So there you have it, Ribena deprived Sinister kids, just wish hard enough, 
shout loud enough, and Ben will leave his ordinary job on some thin 
pretence, jump into the nearest phone box, twizzle around a bit and emerge 
as RIBENA MAN to rescue you!

In other news.... nothing much has happened. New Year, Ribena Man aside, was 
a bit rubbish. Not enough people I knew, not enough snogs. I think dancing 
to Sisters of Mercy (Temple of Love remix type thing) so hard I nearly puked 
was quite fun, I suppose. Andrew WK would be very proud of me. I 
frighteningly regressed by about 8 years on Saturday night, whilst sitting 
next to a pile of sick in a night club (not my sick, I hasten to add). I 
became 14 and sulked harder than I've ever sulked before. I made frequent 
trips to and from the bar ("oops, mind the vomit!"), muttering "fuckwits, 
bastards, music's shite, everyone's ignoring me, I hate you all" repeat to 
fade. I decided that perhaps I should go out to different places, sometimes 
with different people. Familiarity breeds contempt. And sulking, by the 
looks of it.

I have recieved good things in the post recently. First, from Paul Field, 
Brandt Fundak, then more recently Melmoz (thanks for the cd!), then hand 
made one-off original badges from Will Salt and Dimitra and most recently, 
this morning, books from Lliterary Llew. Huge thanks, hugs, kisses, etc to 
all of you. Laura, I hope you realise this means I am forced to kidnap you, 
drive you to the Mexican border and marry you. Neither of us have any choice 
in the matter, I'm afraid.

I don't actually like this drippy Belle and Sebastian band. I like Scottish 
bands, yes, but Del Amitri and Texas are more my bag. I only joined this odd 
mailing list to get free stuff. And what do you know - it worked!

Whatever happened to the Poetry Parrot?

Love
Madeleine
xxx





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