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Learning Curves

No, dear reader, not ‘love handles’, still less ‘fun-sacks’, but something to do with me learning how to behave in polite company. Bah! So EdZilla, Valkerie, Bronco et al – The Coven – want me to appear for Din Dins, sharp, with a view to getting me to learn some of the chosen responses for when we go to this bloody publishing thingy at Edinburgh University. ‘Be still, my beating heart’. (It won’t be your heart that takes a beating. EdZilla) The ‘Sisterhood’ tell me it’s terribly important for Mac to make a good impression; which apparently, somehow also involves MOI. According to Bronco, who, after all, knows about these things, being a BML herself, the place will be stiff, (geddit?) with Big Mad Lezzies, and I will have to be on my breast behaviour. [I’m warning you! Ermintrude] EdZilla tells me I’ll have to read up on the ‘Wimmin’s’ position on important features of gender differentiation, whatever the hell that is, when she kicks me in the shin! I never said anything! According to Sherpa Tensing, I didn’t need to. How spooky is that?

Literature for the Hard of Thinking

There is every danger of some mad feminist chick doing a retrospective on the fairy tales of the Grimm Bros; many of them already reinterpreted by the late Angela Carter. I try to ingratiate myself with Bronco by telling her that when I was young there was a story about a little Dutch boy who had saved the entire country buy sticking his finger in a… ouch! Some people have no sense of high literature; never mind humour; most of whom have to sit down to pee. Bronco tells me that I too may join that esteemed band unless I put a sock in it. Eeeek! I am then asked about my own film preferences, with Bronco holding a small yet perfectly formed butter knife; wrapped in cling film? I hear a whimper from my y-fronts. Valkerie points out that we are talking about alternative cinema. I can hardly believe my luck!

Cinema Verite

I don’t know where to start; the Italian ‘Snow White and the Seven Milkmen’; the glove puppet version of ‘Last Tango in Paris’; or how about ‘Lady Chatterly’s Lawnmower’? So now Valkerie hits me! Apparently ‘noir’ refers to the subject matter of the film, not the colour of the lace panties. It suddenly explains a great deal. EdZilla mentions ‘Electra’ or ‘Joan of Arc’. I suggest ‘Clamidia’; wrongly as it turns out. But I am talking about a Greek tragedy; and sometimes the yoghurt helps. Then they all hit me. I am about to suggest ‘Leaping Tiger, crouching Pussy’ when Bronco asks me if my voice has broken yet, ’cause she knows a very simple way to help. Eh? But then I am saved! ‘Madame Butterfly’ by Pussini! Beat that ‘Sisters’! Then everything went quiet round the table. Sherpa Tensing suggests educational toys; but not, it seems, those made by Ann Summers. Curses! No, dear reader, the assembled Bush Babies conclude that what I need is books; lots of them; especially ones by a couple of chicks called Jane Austen, and Virginia Woofter or somesuch. They probably write for Mills and Boon. Mercifully Mac phones to see if I’m still in one piece; and to ask me if I saw the programme the night before. About some feminist chick pish. To which I can assent enthusiastically. I mean, the chick in question, despite her dubious stance on things coital, was absolutely hooterlicious, with long blonde hair and gorgeous legs!… And with a really impressive grasp of the sub-textual critique inherent in the present phallocentric media empire. Phew! Impressive; no? [No. Ermintrude]

Escape from Coven Island

It transpires that arch-enema, Amanda B Twatweiller, had invited The Coven to try out a new form of mind control over ‘certain male subjects’, who may be deemed eligible for selection. Suddenly I think it’s time to go. Hence the presence of ‘Tyrannosaurus Mouse’. A small grey-brown clockwork toy supplied by the Search and Rescue Service, Sad Bastard’s Division. Yeehah! And while ‘The Sisterhood’ drop their knitting and start climbing their tumbrils, Yours Truly exits Stage Left, pursued by a bare knuckle sandwich. Bitch! I still don’t know who threw the punch; but at least I got out alive. To chew the fat with Mac over the films I should be talking about to the ‘Cliterati’ at this publishing beano. He says I should treat ‘The Return of the Fifty Foot Woman’ as a survival manual rather than an educational film. Having watched it now for eighteen times, I can see that it does contain several outstanding features…

John J McCabe. Copyright.

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