Sinister: Golden lights displaying your name

[Liz Daplyn]

THE TREES THEY GROW HIGH

The shrubberies on top of Primrose Hill may have to be pressed into service 
as shelters tomorrow if the weather continues intermittently wet and windy.  
It’s happened in the past, and it’ll happen in the future.  Don’t let that 
put you off coming out to frolic and feast, though, and all hilltop chills 
can be shrugged off by some frenzied indie-kid dancing at Tigermilking 
later.  You know it makes sense.  A positive aspect to less clement weather 
is that I won’t get sunstroke and be sick after drinking too much warm white 
wine, which is a bonus as Brighton beach won’t be there handy to receive the 
contents of my stomach.

AND THE LEAVES THEY DO GROW GREEN

On my train journey inland from the seaside last Sunday, exhausted and 
slightly dazed from heaving boxes up stairs and the ensuing beery session, I 
couldn’t be bothered getting my CD player out for a while, but sat by a 
speeding window staring out hypnotised at adolescent wheatfields 
fragmentarily displaying whole regiments of acidic green stems under the 
golden surface as a desultory wind ruffled them like feathers.  Darkness 
soon followed me along the vector of earth I was travelling, and 
‘Regeneration’ by the Divine Comedy took me all the way home including the 
Tube.

MANY’S THE TIME MY YOUNG LOVE I’VE SEEN

A key to the senses is distance: we can see further than we can hear 
(dependant upon conditions) and can sense fair or foul odours from further 
away than the confines of our skin, which bears the pleasures and burdens of 
tactility.  Finally, it is only by internalising an object, by taking it 
into our mouth, that we can experience the intimacy of taste.  Thus 
something horrible seen or heard is not as visceral (literally: of the 
intestines - gutwrenching) as something scented, felt or, most disturbingly, 
tasted.  Is this scale of experiential intensity equally applicable to 
pleasant phenomena?

MANY’S THE TIME I’VE WATCHED HIM ALL ALONE

A classic Bond film in the form of ‘Goldfinger’ was on TV the other day, 
annoyingly partitioned and bisected by the 10 o’clock news, but jolly good 
fun all the same, prompting nostalgic juvenile sniggers at the character 
played by Miss Honor Blackman, ‘Pussy Galore’.  But anyway, I realised 
during the pre-credits shooting and shagging sequence that the Sneaker 
Pimps’ minor 1997 hit ‘6 Underground’ is built around a sample from the 
score to this celluloid triumph.  A while ago I placed the glockenspiel 
sample that Pizzicato 5 used for ‘Baby Love Child’, but now I can’t remember 
which 60s soul track it comes from now.  Bah.  Might be the Righteous 
Brothers’ version of ‘You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling’.

HE’S YOUNG BUT HE’S DAILY GROWING

My, this mail has turned into a bit of a monster.  However, to segue 
inelegantly: as Minnie Ripperton sang so memorably, "Loving shoes is easy 
because they’re beautiful", and that applies most particularly to my new 
pointy brown suede high heels.  I could dent some shins real good with these 
babies, I’m tellin’ you.  Brown really is the new black, you know.  Don’t 
misunderstand me, I’m not a fetishist, but by gum there’s something special 
about swinging the weight of a newly filled shoebox inside a fresh carrier 
bag as you stride along the street for an appointment with destiny.  Ah, 
retail therapy: the canny shopper can save thousands on shrink bills and 
crockery.

I’ll leave you with that thought for the day, and it only remains to thank 
Mr Ian Watson for another storming How Does It Feel To Be Loved? at the 
ever-red Buffalo Bars at Highbury Corner.  Soon coming to a Friday near you! 
  I almost literally can’t wait.

Love,
Liz :x

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