Yeah, I guess you're right... I knew it was going to be difficult
after the London bombs, and I guess it still is, but anyway...
Summer's just ok around here in Spain. Well, it is for me, I mean
nothing really bad happened, but since I started studying for my Sept
exams the 15th July... didn't have much time for anything...
So I just hope any of you Sinners can tell me of your summer
adventures and loves so I can live my life through yours!! Please do!!
--
----------------------------------
Javi Sorribes
javiersorribes(a)gmail.com
PS: And tell me about the book!! Is it worth it??
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
Memories. A number now have dived for them and laid
them before us here – a good place to keep them, the
darkroom of the ink polaroid, the site where all the
ladders start. Mine is very unimportant, in a way, but
it has grown more important to me. It was perhaps the
last time that I spoke to Liz Daplyn.
April 2005; I am dawdling away precious time in
rewriting an old essay on George Orwell that has never
seen printÂ’s daylight. Late afternoon, 4 or 5, and I
have printed the latest draft, to read and correct on
paper. I need some cash to buy myself a cheap cup of
coffee to accompany that task. I must traverse Russell
Square to get it. I cross the civilized pavements &
tame zebra crossing, enter through the metal gates,
head down the paths between the grass, beneath the
trees. At the far side, heading toward the way out,
the sudden stun of seeing her. Wow – cor – hello. I
have never met her here before, though IÂ’m here often
enough. Perhaps she could say the same about me. I
think she raises a famous eyebrow, perhaps forms one
of those expressions to which Mr Moore has referred,
in asking what I am up to, as we stop. I tell her
about my Orwell essay – probably I am full of the
thought of it; I think I rapidly tell her the whole
story of having written it once, trying to rewrite it
and make something useful out of it, rather than see
it go to waste; and even how I am now fetching some
cash so I can reread it properly. It should not be a
very interesting tale for her to listen to: I donÂ’t
mean to inflict an excess of dullness on her, but
somehow the whole thing is needed, if I am to mention
any of it. I reckon she offers a few more expressions,
widens her eyes to show interest, even utters the odd
musing noise of comprehension. But what about her –
where is she going? To the gym, she says. I know what
my response to this must be: the same as any time
anyone tells me they’re going to a gym: Oooh, dear –
blimey – intake of breath – that’s not a good idea –
gym, eh? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a gym – not
since I was about 15, anyway. She agrees: I think her
words may be akin to ‘Yes, it’s terrible, isn’t it?’.
Madness, this going to the gym. From University
College Hospital, this is, that way. Oh – where (it
springs to mind, as these things always do, seeking to
knit themselves together) – where George Orwell spent
his last days!
- Did he? – I think she is interested. Does she, in
fact, show the semblance of a remembrance of this fact
herself? – Yes, I say – those last days when he was
producing public announcements of how not to read
*Nineteen Eighty-Four*.
(And to this day I have not checked again the details
– so I will do it now. Orwell’s last published
letters, at least in my 4-volume set, are from UCH,
the Gower Street site as it happens, October 1949. ‘I
am getting married very unobtrusively this weekÂ’, he
says in the penultimate, and in the last, ‘It was so
awfully kind of you both to send me that beautiful box
of crystallized fruits, & then on top of that for Mary
to send me those packets of teaÂ’. He died, Malcolm
Muggeridge said, on LeninÂ’s birthday. A fine line
stands out for me from Victor PritchettÂ’s obituary:
‘He has gone; but in one sense, he always made this
impression of the passing traveller who meets one on
the station, points out that one is waiting for the
wrong train and vanishesÂ’.)
Our encounter lasts little longer than this. I
can imagine now her blithe glance, her easy eyes, as
she departs the way I have come. But in some queer way
it lifts me. There is the sheer energy generated by a
chance encounter – one with a friend in a
semi-professional context, with a pop fan on the
verges of the working world; a buzz lingers of the
unused electricity left over from the meeting. There
is her presence, her character, her distinctive
existence, with me a moment then gone. Perhaps a
little sweetness surges round my task, from having
told her about it. For here is something I will
remember her by: the way that, even during my perhaps
wearisome narrative about Orwell, her interest does
not seem to waver. It is not so much that the topic
interests her – though perhaps it does, slightly, at
least for a moment; I would like to know now, some
day, how much Orwell she ever read, or whether she
ever read *Coming Up for Air* (1939). It is rather
that she is prepared to be interested, for now, for my
sake – not patronizingly or with any fabrication, but
with an inner spring of sympathy. Perhaps the best
word for what I find in her is just kindness: she
looks, listens, talks, kindly. Likewise, she is in no
hurry, I think, to be gone anywhere: she strains at no
leash. She has somewhere to be, but she is more than
happy to stand and talk to me. They are such small
things, I know – but they do not go unnoticed.
When someone dies, people say and write the best
things they can think about them. (He was a fine
musician, a yachtsman, a man of parts. His lasting
achievementÂ…) That is understandable; more, perhaps it
is right and good – though the sad thought remains
that if all these things are true, it is a pity many
of them are not often enough said during life. But
while it is death that brings me to call back this
memory and say these things, it has not invented them;
I noticed those qualities in her at the time, at the
moment, in the backwash.
Surprisingly, a supplement exists to this most minimal
of tales. On a messageboard Liz remarks on our
meeting. I get the cash, buy a cup of coffee, read my
essay and scratch corrections and doubts over it. The
next day I send it off to a journal in the dim hope of
publication. I donÂ’t want nothing to come of all this
work, however poor its result. Their website says they
will get back to potential contributors within 3
months. It is Tuesday 5th July that I get a reply,
which really surprises me: a referee has recommended
publication; they donÂ’t even ask for any changes.
Probably I have escaped lightly, enjoyed a stroke of
luck. But in any case, here is the result of what I
was doing that day, that moment I met Liz Daplyn.
Something, for once, has come of it, gone right. I
wish now that I had e-mailed her and told her. If I
had met her again, that night, or the following
weekend, and talked, I know I would have told her
about it. Of course, she would not have been
interested. But in a way, she would have been
interested, for the reasons I have tried to describe.
I walk through Russell Square again and think of her;
like others I am jolted every time I see her picture
or her name in print; I even walk the same way for the
same old reason, still on the way to finalizing that
Orwell piece once and for all. I send it off for the
last time, a final version, the day she is buried;
then I walk to her wake and hear about the afternoon.
I stand outside the Artillery Arms, on the pavement on
a sweet evening, with two Aston Villa fans talking
about the 1982 European final. One of them is Sister
Disco, speaking with slow thoughtfulness about things
that have been on his mind, the last couple of weeks.
I am very surprised when he turns to me and says:
- And the other thing that I keep thinking about is
you meeting Liz in Russell Square.
I wonder exactly why. Perhaps it is the momentary
nature of the encounter, its randomness in a world of
random life and death, its triviality in our trivial
lives. Perhaps it is because it is Russell Square –
and only a few hundred yards from where I meet Sister
Disco myself, a month after I meet Liz D. Perhaps it
is about connections – how even such a tiny one
confirms the web of connections that exists between
us, a little like what Virginia Woolf stretched for in
that best of all Bloomsbury books:
‘And they went further and further from her, being
attached to her by a thin thread (since they had
already lunched with her) which would stretch and
stretch, get thinner and thinner as they walked across
London; as if oneÂ’s friends were attached to oneÂ’s
body, after lunching with them, by a thin thread,
which (as she dozed there) became hazy with the sound
of bells, striking the hour or ringing to service, as
a single spiderÂ’s thread is blotted with rain-drops,
and, burdened, sags down. So she sleptÂ’.
(I flick through the whole book, seeking such moments,
and like David Thomson I marvel at it again.) My own
thread is thin; I must end before it breaks. Well, I
tell Sister Disco, I was thinking about posting about
that day, trying to remember it properly, set it down.
– You should, he says.
__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
G'day all,
So I got to thinking recently, how are things going
with Mrs Julie Hewitt (nee Sauer) a.k.a. Cyberglam
a.k.a Julie "Sexpot" Sauer??? (Ah, the burden of
physical beauty.)
I clearly recall chatting with her back in my salad
days on #Sinister IRC Chat around and after September
11, 2001. Unfortunately, my occasional navel-gazing
has allowed no scope for recent developments and
accordingly I have found myself somewhat dislodged
from the Sinister social loop.
The last message I received from Julie was an email
she sent me in September 2002 announcing her move to
Melbourne. I wrote back with my advice for living in
Australia (eg. Treating snake bites with opium or
other narcotic substances is not recognised nor
approved by medical authorities.) I have yet to
receive a reply. (I guess my tips weren't overly
helpful.) Plus I didn't know her new email address.
The following year I heard over the jungle drums that
she and David had wed and were now living in the most
holy of matrimonies! But I already had my suspicions
when she said she was moving. That sly minx...
But I was wondering, has anyone heard from her
recently? I'm just itching to say "G'day, how's it
goin'?! Have you had the distinct pleasure of being
kicked by a kangaroo yet?" Such profound
Aussie-related questions go begging for an answer.
If anyone has any info, it is greatly appreciated! :-)
Just drop me a line at:
froggysfamily(a)deletethisbit.com.au
Thanks everyone!
Marc Willems
------------
"It is not easy to be evil when music is playing." -
J. M. Chernoff
Send instant messages to your online friends http://au.messenger.yahoo.com
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
Hey Sinister,
Apart from the content, the last digest could have
crawled from 1999, so let me add my tuppence'th
(£15.65 in new money) to the whole memories shebang.
Yesterday I put a picture of me gazing lovingly at Liz
in front of some crazy red titling (you can see it at
the site Steve pointed to in his last post) up as my
PC wallpaper. It's made me well up four or five times
and want to HUG Liz till she squeals (she was always
good for a squeal, was Liz, hence such successful
turns at "Heart of Glass" and "Wuthering Heights", a
rendition of which I was lucky enough to get only 4
days before the tragedy).
The funeral was an amazing occasion, and the sheer
congregation of love there made all the tears more
sweet than bitter. It was lovely to see so many people
I have got to know thanks to Sinister there - my god,
my life would be flat indeed if it wasn't for this
list. I hope I don't have to go to another funeral in
such circumstances, but if I do, I hope it will be
conducted in such a loving, respectful, intimate way.
So love to you all (especially the amazing Michele who
claims to have grown up kids but can't as she's only
21 herself), and love to Liz's family and to Rob, who
is a fucking star and the least deserving person in
the world for all this terrible stuff.
Keep smiling,
Mark
___________________________________________________________
How much free photo storage do you get? Store your holiday
snaps for FREE with Yahoo! Photos http://uk.photos.yahoo.com
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
Ello babies
MissVicky, who is not subscribed anymore, has asked me to point sinister
kids in the direction of this (yes I know it's ILX, but it's ok, you'll
not catch anything just by looking ;)):
http://ilx.wh3rd.net/thread.php?msgid=6030376
(if you get a silly warning message that says "turn back, you poxy
fule", please try again later)
You can contact vicky for the password (at the email on the link), we're
looking to get as many pictures of Liz as we can, so please look through
your old snaps and see if you've got anything, I understand there are
boxes for your comments/memories on the website as well (I haven't
scanned my pics in yet).
xoxo
CarsmileSteve
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
Hejla Sinisterla,
Oh, gosh. It's been a whole over a month since I had last written. I have
not forsaken you, believe me, it's just been a crazy over-a-month. For
those
who don't keep track of my every post, last time I wrote I managed to fall
off a bus during a haze of intoxication and cracked my head, after a Dizzy
Rascal gig (really was feeling the Dizzy after that)
Well, I've recovered from that now, head pain replaced by heartaches.
You know somebody is a true friend, when they turn up to your birthday
party,
before you do, at your own flat, and then give you presents of booze and a
tin of
"COCK" brand curry sauce. When they bake you a cake and make cocktails with
names like "Frogspawn" and accompany you in keeping your neighbours awake
singing
"I Believe In A Thing Called Love" on the karaoke machine until 2 in the
morning.
All these little things are those I remember the best, and what make me all
simultaneously smiley and teary eyed. The crazy drunken post-bowling
singer-songwriter party in Finsbury Park; The picnic in Oxford featuring the
indestructible bubbles; The pub quizzes at The Shepherd; The filthy origami
at The Approach; The outlandishly unpractised "Red Bull Dozers" "gig"; The
Sunday roasts; The Bowling; The Fun; The funny named ales. I can go on.
What can I say about Liz that hasn't already been mentioned by everyone
else,
as her loveliness was so obvious? Always so organised, so smart in knowing
everything, never holding a grudge against anybody, and so never ever
pretentious. When everything else were being crazy in my life, I could
always
find comfort in Liz, knowing that she would have had all of her things in
order, and be willing to give a hand to her friends. A couple of years back
I was having a very nasty time and my world was upside down, I cried my eyes
out, Liz was there and she gave me lots of tissues. I've since learnt how
not to cry outside so much, but I wish I can take my phone out and look up
the "Liz" right now.
It was lovely to see plenty of folks last weekend, it's nice. Kerplunk! was
quite a good game, too, but we had decided that the setting up time:playing
time ratio was too rubbidge for our liking.
Ken
P.S.: Oh God. A whole post and still no puns. Well, once, many years ago
at
a picnic in Hyde Park, I think for some reason Liz and I were talking about
being a transvestite, and I inadvertently said something like "ooh, that's a
drag..", and she laughed. And I nodded knowingly pretending it was a
deliberate pun...
Bad Ken.
**********************************************************************
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
Good to see some old faces and hear some old voices. And good to see Honey
still gets given a hard time every now and then.
It is sad that it takes something so appalling to have so much activity on
this list. I didn't know Liz - I never met her. I did see her on
University Challenge once. The one and only time I watched the programme.
They were crap..let's not beat about the bush...shocking. To put it into
context, I didn't understand a word of it, but St Hilda's got well and truly
done from memory. Not a great memory to have of someone but, in my usual
childish manner it remains fond.
Thanks to David and Sarah for reporting back.
Starry wrote:
>"after going for sustenance in the form of batteredsossidgechipsandbeans in
the local chippy"
Aren't you from Preston? What an earth are you doing eating beans with your
chips? I thought it had to be mushy pea fritters with crack-coated Mars
Bars.
I'm going to go into hibernation again for 5 years now, don me best suit,
get married and have another 14 children.
Adrian.
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
If Starry Sarah can come out of the woodwork after all this time, then
I suppose I will as well. I'm very happy you're safe Sarah... and
pleased you still seem to be *you.*
I may be the oldest of the old Sinisterines, chronologically... and
consequently I've left all this p!o!p! stuff to those more p!o!p! than
I. But once a Sinisterine...
While I didn't know Liz outside the confines of the Sinister world,
I think most of us would agree that this small world made many of us
friends of a new and different kind -- we here often knew more about
each other than we knew of people in our "real" worlds and sometimes
shared things with each other here more easily than we do in that
"real" world -- and so I count her as one of those friends by virtue
of having read her posts and learned about her through them over
the years. That, and the fact that people I know, respect and love
thought the world of her makes me feel the loss of Liz as though I
too have lost something.
Perhaps it is just that the world can ill afford to lose one of its
better beings and when it happens, we all feel the loss of their
goodness in the world somehow. Maybe Sinister made all of us more
aware of that kind of world-connectedness.
As the mother of children not much younger than Liz, this resonates
particularly deeply in me and my heart breaks for her parents
especially. We can never quite explain the amazing love we have for
our children, and how that love always carries with it both great
hopes for their lives and horrible fears for their safety. It is what
makes parents so annoying sometimes. I know I can't begin to know
the Daplyns' pain in reality, but I can imagine all too well the shape
and depth of it from my own nightmares and it makes me cry... for them,
for Liz, and for all the troubled world in which these things happen.
I hope that they, and everyone who loved and was touched by her,
will eventually find the peace that Liz would want them to find in
having known, loved and shared her life. Hopefully their memories
of Liz will someday be beams of sunlight in which those who loved
her will be able to warm themselves in the dark of sadness.
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
probably only a week or two before the bombings in London took place,
so obviously I'm not up with Liz and her life works, though with all
the streams of glowing tributes from people who have had their own
anecdotes of someone who clearly is someone special in her own way.
I guess in a way its a testament to the wonders of the internet that
it has been able to bring people together like this and when people
are taken away so tragically it touches everyone in such a profound
way. As if the pain of seeing the aftermath of the attacks where so
many people needlessly died wasn't enough.
I'm sure if Liz had an internet connection beyond the grave she'd be
dead chuffed by how highly people regard her.
Take care and keep living your beautiful lives
Will
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
Hello Sinister,
gosh it's been a while, hasn't it! I meant to write to you last
Thursday, but Stefano wrote:
> apparently we are facing a second day of havoc in London,
> although the extent of the fact is nothing near what happened
> only a couple of week ago, I just work down the road from
> Warren street, one of the "isolated" tube stations. get in
> toch if you been involved and need any help. hope you are all
> well and safe.
I am well and safe, but the abovementioned meant that after going for
sustenance in the form of batteredsossidgechipsandbeans in the local
chippy that I couldn't get back into my office which had been cordoned
off by police tape saying DO NOT CROSS, helicopters whirring above heads
and the local TRAMP being interviewed by A.N Media Man - I guess at
least by BBC News 24. I rang my boss in a bit of a panic, only to find
him in a local pub, had a quick half, and then went home.
This being the Thursday, I hadn't been to Liz's funeral yet, that was on
Friday. I immediately thought: gosh; that's near UCLH sorta, I hope Liz
is... ack.
But on Friday a lot of people said goodbye, and we listened to Belle &
Sebastian, and ate some pork pies afterwards. It was a bit like a
picnic, but an extremely bittersweet one and with less wine until the
decamping London party fell into the boozer - and then personally I was
drinking Discovery, but what can you do.
You may wonder why I'm posting here, and in fact WHO THE HECK AM I -
well, I'm your worst nightmare. I'm an old school Sinisterine who
RETURNED with my special knowledge of which button to press behind the
painting to wizz you down the superslide straight to the swimming pool
filled with chocolate and Hunky Lifeguards TM with triangular faces and
ginger hair. What? I don't mean you, Stuart, would I? Gosh no. Anyway,
the reason I'm posting here is because it feels right to say something
about Liz, as this is where we "met", and a Sinister Pickernick is where
we "MET", so there. There was a moment at the funeral where Bell End
Sebastian was played, and I, a mere robot, started to cry and had a
quick look round for all the people that met in this way to see if
lightbulbs were pinging off and on over peoples heads.
They weren't, because that would have been taking Magical Realism too
far.
I am useless at this stuff, and Honey has already put things a squillion
times better than I have, so I'll just say that I still laugh at our old
args. abt Robert Browning**, and laugh, shamefaced that our last
conversation in the pub was about Dr Who novels and Star Wars novels,
I'll miss trips to the chicken shop and someone always knowing about
cake/fishing/history/geography - in fact, Liz knew it all. She's
incredibly special**, and my heart breaks for her family and partner,
and that the UCL pie club is lacking a champion member.
I saw a lot of Sinisterites over the weekend. And it was good. Of
particular note I must recommend a game called Downfall, that Trousers
and Hoppo were champions at.
CHESS OF THE FUTUR!
Bye for now,
Sarah
*I am still right by the way he is rubbidge
**not in THAT sense
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
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+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
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