Sinister: love, group hugs, and A BABY FOR SINISTER!

[The Hodottir]

Darling sinisters

I have to admit, I’ve been withholding information.  I know, it’s 
disappointing – and just when you think you know someone… I’m sorry, really, 
but I spent January holed-up with conjunctivitis (seriously, I only just 
pulled through), and since I turned 26 everyone expects me to work like a 
grown-up. Psht.

Anyway, excuses excuses.  To the news:

*Just a baby, baby girl?*

Now I’m not sure if it’ll be the first (correct me), but there’s a sinister 
baby on the way. That is to say, two people who were brought together by 
this very list are breeding the next generation of listees. And no, it’s not 
mine, as I’m about as maternal as a mince pie.  Besides, I’m barely even 
having sex at the moment, let alone reproducing. No, this bump is the work 
of our very own Joe and Florence Sinister, ex of London, now of Bristol.  
(For those who don’t know, these two first flashed eyes across another 
sinister’s bedroom – the rest, as they say, is all a bit of a blur.) 
Technically the kid’s already been to its first gig (Bath Pavilion), and its 
Mum and Dad intend to brainwash it with the entire back-catalogue from an 
early age, mwah mwahahaha.

In fact, I’m even hoping it might get a Belle and Sebastian name. Like 
Belle. Or Sebastian. Or Judy, Anthony, Lisa, Dylan, Mary Jo, Nancy, Emma, 
Laura, Joe, Phil, Jane, Jenny, Jonathan, or, indeed, David. Not Seymour 
though – that would just be stupid. On New Year’s Eve we were discussing how 
marvellous it would be if there could be a Sinister Christening, with Struan 
in a smart suit giving blessings, Wee Sarah serving tea and the band doing a 
cover of ‘Baby Love’.  Now that would be worth being born for.

So there.  All being well, it’ll be here in the summer – can’t remember the 
exact date (Flo, set me straight), and I’m hoping we can feed it stewed 
apples at a picnic near you. More on those later though.

*Nice surprises*

>From kleine kindern to Kinder Surprise – those chocolatey eggs with toys 
inside.  I can’t get enough of these at the moment.  So far I’ve gotten a 
mini fish magnifying glass, a coyote on a motorbike and a glow-in-the-dark 
lamppost.  Oh, and about 4 pounds heavier.  Anyway, that’s not really news, 
so…

*Stuart Murdoch’s Home Movies*

Do you remember a while back I posted about Stuart M making a star 
appearance in my friend Dave’s kitchen?  Of course you do.  Well, it turns 
out Dave’s flatmate Melanie is the Melanie in the I’m A Cuckoo video!  She 
and her friend Isabelle are the poor girls who get dunted by a running 
Struan.  (“Tsk, who does he think he is; Richard Bluddy Ashcroft?!”)

Well, according to Dave, Melanie’s in the next video too, and it’s a 
collection of shots, filmed by Stu on his handycam, of “random friends of 
the band doing random things” (this is as much as I could get out of Dave).  
Melanie will be drumming, apparently, in Dave’s flat. Does anyone know what 
song it’s going to be? Dave had forgotten – he really is quite a fecking 
useless source.  I’ve told him if his flat’s in the video I’m gonna organise 
open-days, so Sinisters can hang out there and relive the moment.  And I’m 
gonna sell his kitchen chairs for silly money on ebay.

So that was the news. And now for the weather.

*Session and List Neglect*

When I read the upset about not enough people posting or reviewing radio 
sessions and the suchlike, I felt quite choked, really. And so should you. 
This is how it feels to be loved and missed when you’re away, and it doesn’t 
happen to just anyone. Are you welling up yet? Jolly good. But I’m sensing 
there are perfectly good reasons why you’re keeping yourselves to 
yourselves.  Some of you have got busy jobs or fallen in love or found other 
distractions that stop you from speaking up.

For me though, and surely I can’t be the only one, it’s simply because Belle 
& Sebastian are born now. The longest gestation period ever is finally up, 
and after pushing and straining and puffing ourselves half-daft, the 
labour’s paid off.  We’ve handed them over to the authorities.  Trever Horn 
is Daddy Warbucks and we’re, well we’re just, er… (sorry, this metaphor is 
falling apart).

The point is, now B&S have made it, I can finally catch up on all music I’ve 
been neglecting over the past 8 years; devoting more time and energy to 
sourcing obscure EPs by bands that were just a twinkle in a someone’s eye 
when B&S cut their teeth. It’s very rewarding. I was there when Franz 
Ferdinand needed me, and how proud I am of those boys now.  And I frequently 
have Lampchop clenched to my breast, while carrying U.N.P.O.C. on one hip 
and The New Pornographers on the other.  These bands need the kind of 
nurturing people like us can offer.  Aww, I mean, just look at their cute 
wee faces.

It doesn’t mean I don’t love B&S any more: I do.  I love them as though they 
were my own. And judging by the warmth in Stuart’s simply beautiful online 
diary, he still loves us too.

Maybe what we all need is a group hug, with mini scotch eggs and swiss 
rolls. First sniff of sunshine and we should all get into groups, get 
drunkish and remind each other what this was all about in the first place.

Oh, and anyone who remembers what that was, please let us all know in 
advance.


Much love and a fiver on your birthday,

Auntie Lorraine

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