*Snip*
I'm not sure what this has to do with anything, but there you go.
woohoo... clap clap clap. Great post... I wasn't too sure about this list to start with but the longer I'm on it the more I realise it's brilliance. The same kind of playful genius that B&S have... wonderful. I just bought 'Swansong for you' (as well as 'Soul to Feet' by Katheryn Williams, which has only one song which I haven't got on the album, which is a cover, and not even a very good one... and 'Hour of the Wilderbeast', which may need to time to grow but which I quite like anyway) and I'm not too impressed, it seems kind of ordinary, flowery rather than pretty. I get the feeling it might grow on me though... I'm not sure, a lot of the lyrics are good at least. I assume the Katrina House listed in the credits is our Katrina House... wow, I'm talking to celebrities (kind of). I'm also very proud to have prompted the eternal Ribena debate. I can see great rivers of Ribena flowing though the screen at this very moment. Jennifer Grey said that she uses the light-switch ruse to stop people seeing her body. I have been with two girl who did that... and, through some ruse or other (can't remember what) I managed to get them to turn the light on. Both had very attractive bodies...a little round perhaps, but a little round is nice... much better than too thin. Ken... thanks for a great series of posts. I laughed out load in a crowded computer room at the office assistant thing... Out of interest, this was sent to alt.music.radiohead a while ago, so I fished it out of the archives for the perusal of all. "Dear Thom, this'll be the last letter I ever send your ass I love you man I even cut my kids in half..." And, lastly, back by popular demand is Miss Judy and her dreams of horses. "Judy put down the book. She was happy. It was the knowledge she had created something good that allowed her to forget that she herself was not. She could tell a story and she would become the writer and not the person. How many people thought beyond the lyrical persona of their favourite band, or the thoughts within an author's book? In the eyes of the public art and artist are one and if she wrote something good enough she would become good herself. Even the content of the book didn't matter; all that mattered was the quality. People could understand that she was the girl in question. They could see all her weaknesses and it wouldn't matter. She would be more, because her book was more. Judy got up. This was by no means easy and required at least seven repetitions of what she liked to call the "Quick open, heavy close manoeuvre". This involved opening her eyes very quickly, in an attempt to shock herself awake, followed by the slow, relentless moving of her eyelids as they decided to return to their original position. I was going to be a hard day so Judy decided to begin first with orange juice, then with toothpaste, in the strange hope that this would make the rest of her day seem better by comparison. It was mint toothpaste. deciding that this was taking things a little too far she straight down stairs for breakfast. Everyone was out so Judy poured herself a liberal helping of Frosties and sat down. She finished her Frosties quickly and went up stair to get dressed. I little flowered skirt and a pair of black shoes were all she could find. she thought she'd have to stop allowing her mother to buy her clothes in future. Judy left for school early but she couldn't concentrate. A-level English and Geography were hardly the things to occupy a restless mind, especially during sections on 'Stylistics' and 'Igneous rock formations'. Judy took the whole day to continue her book, beginning with registration, even before the teacher read out her name, Judy had begun to write. Chapter 2 About three days after my first meeting with the boy I began to get restless. I realised that there was no way I could arrange a meeting and this upset me. I didn't realise why until recently, but it did. I just moped around the house for a couple of hours, unable to keep my eyes on anything. Flowered wallpaper and small potted spider plant were about the only things that stayed in my vision for more than a second. I tried playing computer games, reading, writing, even taking photographs of household objects, which is usually my favourite activity, but nothing held my attention. I tried pestering my mother for things to do, but she is far too homely and reverential to be much fun. It soon occurred to me that, since my father could arrange a further meeting, it would be a particularly good idea to harass him with my boredom. I no longer cared if he teased me. My father was a big man, about six-foot and very broadly built, odd considering that he rarely exercised and taught French for a living. He usually wore casual, understated clothes, the only exception being at Weddings, Funerals and the like, at which he was about as smart as it is possible to be. He had short black hair in a style which was nothing short of unexplainable, though it no odd looking, or even particularly unconventional. Just about everything about my father was an strange, not that people usually noticed, you really had to know him well to know that things that fitted in him were the same things that didn't fit with anyone else. I began the assault on my father with a few well-timed sighs, just to catch his attention and let him know that I wasn't happy. I continued with minor annoyances, I'd pat his head as I went passed him or fold my arms across his chest and blow on his ear. All the things I could easily pass off as father/daughter playfulness if he got annoyed. Finally, I asked, "Can I go to school with you tomorrow?" "Why would you want to do that?" I could tell by his face that he knew the answer, but it seemed as though he was in a more serious mood and I might be free from his taunts. "Oh, I want to see how it is. That day in the holidays when I came was really good. I got to have my stories looked at by that lecturer and everyone was so nice. Anyway, you know how boring it is around here" "It's a full timetable day though, I'll have no time to entertain you" "Oh, I don't mind, I'll entertain myself, there is always loads to do at the university" He paused for a second, as if considering whether he would allow this. He put his marking down, rubbed his eyes and said 'ok'. The next day, after I woke up, I went straight to my father's room and pestered him until he got out of bed. The car journey was wonderful, I should have been hopelessly bored but I wasn't, my mind was buzzing. I kept wondering what my lovely new boy would do, what he would, what he would wear to Uni., all stupid and almost utterly pointless, but nevertheless, they were important. As I'd skipped breakfast that morning my father asked if I wanted to stop somewhere and get some, I was hungry but I told him I didn't. I always had breakfast; it was one of my rituals. As we got closer to the University, I began to preen my hair like a kitten every two seconds. If I ever wore makeup then I'm sure I would have checked that too. An hour later we arrived. I walked up the driveway with my dad and looked at all the buildings as I went past. It was quite a new university and it sat just in the middle of a clutch of fields. It had those odd twisted-together trees all around it. It even had a lake on one side that you could take walks around. It looked for all the world like a holiday camp, and not a corporate, Butlins style camp, it really looked like some rich old man's summer retreat. I suppose to an extent it was, as Prince Charles owned it and was supposed to take walks around it sometimes, though no one had ever seen him do so. The last time I visited, I was in constant awe of the wonderful scenery, this time it just provided a fitting backdrop to my mood. We arrived a few hours before the first Art lectures began so I had to amuse myself. This proved quite easy, I had brought my Walkman and I sat listening to a mix-tape I'd made earlier, while thinking up scenarios in which I could meet my fathers friend and he would kiss me within seconds. It was only then that it occurred to me I did not know the boy's name and had no premise with which to speak to him. This, however, was not too much of an obstacle as a pretty girl like me can usually make up an excuse without being thought odd. After all, pretty girls never stalk boys, why should they need to? At 11 o'clock I began to camp outside the Art block, bringing a book along with me so as not to look suspicious. I did not read any of it, just kept it open somewhere near the middle so it looked like I was. I had to wait for three hours before he came out and then I nearly missed him. He came out of the block very quickly wearing a hooded coat, which nearly obscured his face. I kicked my bench hard and winced in mock-pain. The boy looked round for a second and asked if I was ok. "I'll be fine", I replied, trying my hardest to walk away. "Well, if you're sure you're alright." he paused after that sentence and I honestly believed he was going to walk away. He paused for a second, then looked at my face, there was some kind of recognition and he said, "Oh, you're reading The Wasp Factory. You like it?" "Yeah, it's good" "It is" "You're the guy from my house aren't you?" "Yeah" "What's you're name? Mine's Judy." "Andy" "My dad tells me that you do an Art course. That sounds really interesting" The boy stopped for a second, taken aback by my comment. I assumed I had scared him with the idea I had been enquiring about him, though I found out later that he was simply afraid of giving away anything of his character. He doesn't like people to know about him in case they don't understand. People don't like boys who are truly good; it's a sign of weakness. I searched for a way to continue the conversation, and to rectify my mistake, I continued, by saying: "I thought it was a little bit odd that my dad asked someone from his work to fix the computer, rather than going to a shop" "Oh" he said, "He allowed me to put up some of my pictures in the modern languages area, to brighten it up, and so I might be able to sell a few" "How did you get into painting?" "Oh, I just kind of picked up a pencil when I was little and started drawing , then I went on from their. I always liked making things; I love shape and texture. I'd write as well, but I'm really not very good with words" "We could work together then", I said, immediately realising the stupidity of my own words. I was usually good, well, very good, at the kind of banter that attracted boys. Of course, I tended to get bored after I knew they were interested, but the point was that they were. For the first time, I ended up feeling quite stupid." Hope you enjoyed it... I'll do a summery every 5 chapter with the header 'Judy and the Dream (Summary)' or something similar, so that the new listees and anyone who needs a refresher can need it. Anyone got any suggestions of a publisher who likes this sort of thing? Any criticism is welcomed. "We make computers... but we don't know how to operate computers" - 17 year old Manila factory worker The Happy Reaper +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. 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