"You know," I said to the woman with the plastic hands, "I think this moment has changed my life." I'd only been at the church bazaar for five minutes and I was already clutching a hygienic armful of Tupperware. You won't believe what it can do. "Put your sandwiches in this box and they'll keep for weeks." the lady said. "Why, that's impossible!" "No, that's Tupperware!" Every time I was turning over one turquoise plastic artefact, with blinking eyes of astonishment, the lady would pick up another in her hands, which in their translucent arthritis supports looked like they'd been plasticated by some Tupperware Golden Goose. "Do you know what this is for?" "Um, it looks like a sugar spoon. But surely the sugar just falls out of the holes?" "It's for getting pickled onions out of jars." "Wow!" As I piled the multicoloured curiosities into my half price sugar jar I told her, "You know, when I arrived here I didn't know I needed all this stuff, but now, well, I don't know how I ever lived without it." She nodded sagely, and dropped me my change from her plastic hands. I've often wanted to go into the Highfields Church Hall, but I never had an excuse until today. I love visiting churches and church halls but, as I am not a Christian, I always feel I need an excuse. Today I had one. The main event was an auction for what was billed as "Peter Baker's Jacket". Peter Baker seems to be a local hero, and although I didn't know who he was I got the sense that I really should. He'd donated two jackets; One was a cracked shoe-polish brown leather jacket which looked like it had been bought sometime around '74. The other, the top item up for grabs, was a more modern tweed number, which was in good nick, if a little furry, and looked like it had maybe been bought in '78. "So here we are", the denimed vicar called, "the main item on sale, a lovely tweed affair, a 44-in jacket that used to belong to that man I know you all love: Peter Baker." There was applause. I tried to make a "Whoot!" but it didn't come off and I looked at the floor. "It looks", the vicar said, reading some paper pinned to the jacket, "like we've already had some bids for this. Let me see.. Well, the highest bid is twenty pounds. Would you believe it? Twenty pounds! Is there any advance on twenty pounds?" There was a call from the front. "Oh hold on a second", the vicar read the paper again, "that's twenty *pence*. Is there any advance on twenty pence?" I struggled home with my tupperware and passed an old man. "You're in a rush. It feels like Brands Hatch on Tewksbury Street today", he said. "Oh I've just bought some cakes from the church bazaar down the road and I'm trying to get home quickly before they melt so that I can put them in my new Tupperware boxes." "Is that the Highfields Church?" he asked. "Yes, it's rather nice. Have you ever been in there?" "Oh no, I'm a Methodist, you see." "What type of church is Highfields then?" "I think it's a Free Church." "A Free Church? What do they believe in?" "Well, in a Free Church anything goes", the old man said. r*e*p*o*r*t*i*n*g* b*a*c*k* I had intended to report back from Scotland when I was there a couple of weeks ago, but time went by and now I think I've missed the moment. It was all good, though. I had a fantastic time during my mini world tour of Britain: Cardiff-Glasgow-Edinburgh-Leeds. I ate far too many bananas, though. Became quite obsessed, I did. It was a real dilemma for me; a few days before I left I read in New Scientist that bananas were going to become extinct because they are all clones, then, on the same day, I heard that if you eat twelve bananas you can DIE. It almost happened to Peter Andre, you know. So I was stuck on the banana-fingers of a dilemma: eat as many bananas as I can before they go extinct, but, well, don't die. Sort of crucial, that. I saw lots of Sinister folks. Danced with the Pinefox, bathed in Lucy's juicy wisdom, pricked myself on Nick's cheekbones, was shocked by Ken's display in a cheap hotel window, and sneaked a glimpse of Patrick's lunchbox. But, truth be told, I didn't spend half as long with you all as I should, as I was always with other people. One of these days I shall make amends. Better be off. It's far too sunny to stay here. I can almost hear the sound of the oars* on the boating lake. bye bye sinister robin xxx *well, technically the rollocks, but it's impossible to use that word without it sounding rude. I know how you Sinisterenes hate smuttiness. Oh, now the sun's gone in anyway. Maybe I'll just sit here on my bed, masticating. Those cakes sure are tasty. [ by express delivery : http://www.superatomic.co.uk/blog ] _________________________________________________________________ Tired of 56k? Get a FREE BT Broadband connection http://www.msn.co.uk/specials/btbroadband +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "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! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+