Sinister: A woman needs a fish like a man needs a bicycle

[Liz Daplyn]

***
  Such sallies and swoons.
  A starling flock.  A total
  eclipse of the moon.

          Paul Muldoon
***

  So anyway, as I was blearily sitting down to tea and toast earlier, I 
glanced up from my kitchen-table concentration on buttering and 
lemon-curding and out the window to notice that there was an elegant young 
lady mallard perching on the garden fence, her tail feathers spread for 
balance on the thin wooden support.  She seemed rather agitated, not to 
mention out of place in a small garden entirely surrounded by tall houses, 
but it wasn't until a couple of minutes later that I noticed her full 
complement of onetwothreefourfivesixSEVEN baby ducklings clustered round a 
sizeable flowerpot on the ground below.  The nice man next door and I came 
to the conclusion that she probably sneakily laid her eggs in someone's back 
garden, hatched them out and is now wondering how to get them to the park 
pond.  The nice man is phoning the appropriate people and they should all be 
happier by the time I get back home.  Hopefully.  Crikey.  On to less 
important things:

SUMMER HERE KIDS!

  Nice to see that Edwyn Collins will be getting a heap of royalties from 
the use of "Never Met a Girl Like You Before" on some hair dye advert.  
That'll keep him in Hawaiian shirts for a while yet.

  The inexplicable bruises (right side of the body only for some reason) of 
the last week's fun and games fading, like the morning, into green and gold, 
it's time for reflection, along with a load of other irrelevancies.  What 
else is a jobless girl to do on a lovely sunny London day?

DANCING

  "How Does It Feel To Be Loved?" was the question, and I'm not sure I can 
remember the answer, but we (having nailed our courage to the sticking 
point) danced our socks off anyway, despite most of the fab records being at 
least twice the average age.  I think.  The Buffalo Bars (what macho people 
have on the front of their Sports Futility Vehicles to fend off the large 
ruminative wildlife of suburbia) is fetchingly red all over, which could get 
trying eventually.  And, as Mark H mentioned, the lack of signage on the 
'conveniences' was mighty amusing, at least after one's first visit, when 
viewing the first visits of other parishioners.  Also, !dang! expensive 
bottled beer.

BOWLING

  There was bowling and it was very good.  Rowan's R!O!C!K!S! with its dingy 
interior and authentically sticky floor.  Cheap bitter, too.  I improved no 
end over the two games played, and demand a rematch at some point.  Luckily, 
I can sneakily get some midweek practice in on the cheap.  There was 
drinking in the pub and eating of Nando's corporate whore chicken chunks, 
then more drinking and such back at my house for the truly hardcore.  Am 
resolved, having marvelled at the twinkling fingers of Mr Chu on my poor 
neglected steelstrung acoustic, to relearn the chords that I have forgotten 
and then some more.  E minor, where art thou?  Also to spend more time in 
bed with sinisterines.

WANKING

  What the clever-clever monologue in "Mandingo cliche" is designed to make 
those of the assembled who are susceptible to girls and social theory do. 
Like Todd S himself, one would presume.  It all makes sense, but there's 
something rather cynically manipulative about it, added to the 
wisdom-from-the-mouths-of-babes factor.  It would be more interesting if she 
was a witty and perceptive hideous troll rather than another jobbing actress 
with perfect teeth.  Still, while on the subject of shallowness:

WIMBLEDON

Mmm, tennis players.  Like the Girl from Ipanema, many of them are tall and 
tanned and young and lovely, not to mention lithe and fit.  Phwoar.  Cold 
showers all round, then.

  Love,
    Liz :x

***
Politeness lasts like a flower, then curls,
darkens and returns to itself.

          Steve Aylett
***

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