Hey Kids, I've decided to copy the format of David Moore's post All Tommorows Parties letter because it was a vivid peep into a weekend of a thousand stories. 1. Football. Was I even watching? No, I was eating a sausage sandwich with the kids and telling people the Venga boys were playing the swimming pool in the evening to rescue us from this drone-rock hell-hole. But well done anyway boys, I was there for congrats and to meet Stuart Murdoch, who was ever-so polite even though he had blood all over his hands from his gushing leg. 2. Bitching. I think they put something in the water, because even the most lovely of the party were finding fault in just about anyone. Good fun, mind you. Except if you're pointing out that I have big feet or a scary face, which isn't one bit funny, espcially at 5am. 3. Glamour. I wore my sunglasses on the top of my head all weekend. Which was nice. At some points they actually came over my eyes, but being short-sighted at the best of times, they didn't stay there long. I think I might have mildly insulted the Mister-cool singer from 'You will be known by the trail of the dead' by insisting he couldn't see anything out of his and why didn't he wear his on his head like me? Maybe you're allowed to wear sunglasses indoors if you're a popstar. My diamonte hairslide also became the look du jour for one Stevie Trousers, who should be a popstar. 4. Getting married in Mini Vegas. Yes I'm still wearing my ring-ding a ling. Bowling with new found friends and getting a STRIKE. Paddling in the sea. Singing in the same room as some man from the Boo Radleys with a guitar and replying 'yes I know' to the statement 'ooh, you can sing'. Hand glued to forehead in embarassment. 5. Fainting in the High Lammas. No, it wasn't an avant garde dance move, that was me collapsing. The perfect excuse to not bother seeing any other bands for the entire weekend. This sad, Stereolab were dazzlingly good. But the boy who followed me around for fifteen minutes trying to persuade me to play strip poker in his chalet was not good at all. Honestly, I was on the verge of throwing up my hands and shouting 'shoo!'. If only I could dismiss the boys just like Shania Twain in her 'don't impress me much video'. The confusing thing about that video is that the lyrics don't correspond one bit. For example: "So what do you think you're elvis or something' - cue Arab on big black horse. Was Elvis ever an arab in one of his films? 6. Saying 'hey, that's my face!' to people reading papercuts, and 'hey, those are my boys' to people looking at the 5-aside results. 7. The boy on the train on the way home with a nosebleed. We've been reading the Beaux stratergem at school and we'd all scoffed at the idea that Archer could attract a lady to his gallant ways by having a nose bleed in church, but really, it worked for me. Poor lamb. I think it might have helped that he looked like one of the new Red-haired Gucci models. Erica x The House of Scarlet http://www.chickpages.com/rants/golighty/index.html +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the undead 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 +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "tech-heads and students" +-+ +-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+ +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+