Sinister: scurrilous

[Rachel Playforth]

it's only 9 o'clock and so far this morning i have found an eyelash (not
mine) in my danish pastry and have started to feel irrationally annoyed
with isobel campbell.  (these two things are not connected.)  i can't
really read posts which report back from gigs, i've found.  i don't know
why.  maybe it's because a b&s show makes such a strong impression on me
when i've directly experienced it, and i don't want to experience it
second-hand.  so, i guess i am dooming myself to skim-reading a large
proportion of the coming posts and probably missing out on some really
good jokes and stuff...

i did read a post from matthew 'nouveau rock god' henderson about b&s
tattoos - it would be just toooooo cringe-worthy to get any kind of
tweepop themed tat, but if you did then the bus drawing, or the little
boy with one finger up, are the best candidates i think.

david went to see joe pernice and i wondered for the nth time if i will
ever get to see him over here.  sigh.  it's only fair - we are exporting
b&s after all.

oh, and as for the truth about gay sex, it remains, i fear, beknown only
to... actual gay people.  as the participants in that programme were
surely computer generated by a state-of-the-art stereotype machine.

yesterday was a very interesting day.  i wasn't really expecting a
response to my note, as i couldn't imagine ian having the nous to work
out who it was from.  and i certainly wasn't expecting the response i
got.  at about midnight on tuesday night there was a heavy knocking at
my door, and thinking that anyone who wouldn't use a perfectly good
doorbell was obviously a couple of red bulls short of the full chu, i
cautiously peeked out of my window.  imagine my surprise when i
recognised the gleaming bald head and leather tutu of george, an old
friend from my days as coat check girl at 'torture garden' in brighton!

i ran downstairs and let him (and the 3 young boys he had coiled around
him) in.  i made them all a cup of tea (george has given up the habit of
taking his with goat blood, which was lucky as i was fresh out) and
asked him what he was up to. 

'well, i wouldn't expect you to know much about it, but it's all the
internet for me these days.  i'm raking it in.'
'oh yes?' i said.  'is it some site like friends reunited?'
'er.. not as such.  more like strangers... bonding.'
'oh, like the sinister list?'

once george had stopped laughing he told me what his line of business
actually was.  the boys gave me a quick demo of the merchandise they've
just started selling online, and i ended up agreeing to buy a liquorice
flavour whip and a pot of Crisco.

finally i remembered to ask what they were actually doing round at my
house.

'well', said george, 'it was the strangest thing.  this guy phoned up
for our thrills-on-wheels, in your own home service, as you do.  but he
was clearly drunk, raving about southern belles and covering them in
desserts... or something.  i was a bit surprised when he gave *your*
address, but figured that after all, you'd had some pretty dodgy
boyfriends in the past and maybe this was just another one trying to
give you a nice present.  oh, and he said he wanted eggs to be involved
somewhere.'

i couldn't believe it!  what was ian's game?  was he trying to get on my
good side by offering me 24 hours of free sex games with some really
very attractive, oiled young men?  it seemed uncharacteristic.  but then
again, how could i expect sensible measures from a man who kept a nun
tied up in his laundry room and had 1600 imaginary friends whom he
regularly involved in his absinthe-fuelled fantasies?

i decided to go with the flow, draw the curtains and surrender myself to
the expert attentions of george and his acolytes.  by wednesday
afternoon i had learned several interesting uses for a dustbuster, but
still had no idea what to do about ian.  maybe i should just bide my
time.  after all, there is surely nothing his feeble mind could throw at
me that i couldn't handle...

luv archel xxx


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