Having taken in more geography than is becoming to a lady of leisure, my mind turns to other avenues of improvement. So, dear reader, I will for now spare you some of my lesser global adventures, such as hearing both the Orinoco flow (a beautiful restful sound of rippling clear water, and not the sounds of suffocating in regurgitated blancmange) and the Russian Steppes (cyrillic ABBA-lite).

No, for now I am taken back to my heady schoolgirl days, when geography was just “colouring in” by another name, and the weekly Music lessons taught me all that I needed to know about HATE in the form of worse-than-jason’s-dreamcoat-yes-i-said-worse likes of “Swinging Samson” (Michael Hurd has a lot to answer for.) Other more, happier memories, even now are becoming clouded…

Stretch your mind back to science lessons. There are two things, other than the drowsiness, that you’ll remember: burning magnesium ribbon, and the static electricity spark thing. (DO NOT MENTION ITS DREAD NAME – such dreary 70s prog rock deserves) Exciting as those might sound to you now, you would have to trawl through the most dry of chemisty lessons to recall what a pipette is, least the tedium that is “titration”. Unless you are the sort of person who has been on the internet since 1975. Oh.

The Pipettes We Are the Pipettes
“We’re the prettiest girls you’ve ever met” How ugly must their audience be? Steer clear of the queues outside their “gigs” is my advice, lest you too catch sight of one of these twisted wretches, for they surely must be the most pitiful of god’s creatures.

So after naming yourselves after a piece of dull, and rightly forgotten, glassware (Tonight: Hoffman Voltameter, with The Volumetric Flasks in support!!) what does the cheaply-dressed band about town do next? Recycle the creatively sterile era of “the wall of sound”? The “bung a bit of echo on it would you? pass the bullets” era more like. Except what they’ve got isn’t solid enough to be even called a dry-stone wall of sound, more like a rickety fence or hastily chalked out boundary line. Of sound.

Their clever A-A-A-A rhyme scheme reaches from the baffling (“We will drop you in our nets”) to the don’t speak too soon of “we’ve got no regrets”. Should I ever clap eyes on them I’ll give them something to regret – a swift punch to the jaw, and a few less back teeth. How’s that for a molar solution.

No, I like the idea of using the Pipettes as their name suggests. For example using them as a device for slowly dropping Concentrated Sulphuric Acid on the back catalogue of the Supremes. Or indeed a pipette could be used to remove all the blood from the Pipettes. Here is an artists impression of what that would look like: