Sinister: 10 Roddington Place: Reporting Back

[Peter Miller]

On the way through the London 1 AM rush hour in the Mooromobile on the way
to Chez Sister Disco last Saturday night, Mooro suddenly answered a question
I had asked him six months ago. And somehow that really impressed me. It
reminded of like what when The Pinefox suddenly starts replying to posts
from 1997.

We had been to see Belle and Sebastian at Somerset House, and we all agreed
that they were more betterer at the exclusive Real Fans Only gig at the
Islington Academy. Mooro didn't even bother getting a set-list.

I saw Kenneth P. Chu with a massive plant pot sized pint of lager. He looked
very happy. It was a bit like a scene from Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men.

There were hardly any twee people. There was hardly any dancing.

On his way out, Carsmile was brandishing some kind of glow-in-the-dark
radioactive anal probe.

Before the gig I went to the pub where I met some listees past and present.
They seemed like a nice bunch. Warrander John came, but I didn't recognise
him because his glasses seem to have grown. I didn't recognise Lucy either
at first. Cabbage knocked someone's pint over with his arse. The Pinefox
talked to me about Lloyd Cole's forthcoming comeback.

I walked over Waterloo Bridge with Lixi.

Before the gig I went round the back to try and get Stuart's autograph, but
when they came out the bouncers put some big fences across so I couldn't get
to him. One bloke told him not to play his new single because it's shite, so
Stuart flicked him the vees. Another bloke, possibly under the influence of
plant pots of beer, squealed in excitement. All in all it was like a cross
between The Beatles at Shea Stadium and Polanski's 'The Pianist', with me in
the Adrian Brody role.

I am glad they did Mooro's request, but I think they should have worked it
out beforehand. Watching people work stuff out is not very interesting,
unless it is 'Être et Avoir', which I haven't seen anyway. What with working
songs out and Stuart's philosophical monolgues it sometimes felt like being
trapped in Jean-Luc Godard's nouvelle vague masterpiece 'One Plus One'.

Actually it was very good. All that was missing was The Brunetties. I am
just trying to make it sound bad to cheer up all the poeple who couldn't go.

After the gig, Mooro's gaydar was in good working order, as he swiftly
spotted the big predatory lesbian manager from 'Footballer's Wives'. I saw
her kissing a man, so maybe she has been cured. It was probably my presence
that did it.

Sunday was similar, only no Mooro :-( I thought the performance was better
and there were fewer drunks. I didn't see Robin Stout. For a moment I
thought the Brazillian chap dancing on stage *was* Jordi. It was like the
'Puttin' On the Ritz' scene from 'Young Frankenstein'. My attempts to get
pulled up on stage came to nought. I enjoyed watching the security staff
dither when asked to help heave indie kids up onto the very high stage
though. I mean, I just wonder what the insurance postion would be if they
did their backs in giving a leg-up to a rhythmically challenged heffalump
from Basingstoke?

We haven't had much Reporting Back from Australia.

Cheers,

Peter

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