Right now, the thing that matters to me most, much more than B&S, much more than Hysteric Glamour, more even than Baxendale or This Week's Crush or Sega or whatever, is tennis. This is true. I'd forgotten how much I love it... it's a hybrid of chess and boxing, and I really do think it's beautiful. Really. Cheese? Ribena? Give me jam, jam and red bull. Or maybe peanut butter and apple juice. Whatever. I write this easyEverything in Trafalgar square, which really /is/ rather an impressive place. It's, like, huge in a way that really strikes you... I'm in Westminster Abbey most days and that's never once stuck me as being big, it's a design thing of some sort. Plus, there's this cool little display telling you how much time you have left, way dinky. Spaced series two, episode three, was a half-hour moment of pure telvisual magic, I'm thinking. Can you even have half-hour moments? Oh well. Aaaaanyway, I'm here 'cos I just had a job interview nearby. Not a very interesting story all round, but, y'know, whatever. My mum always taught me to always peel oranges using this bizzarely complex knife method. I don't understand why. This morning she tried to kick the bathroom door in because she thought I was taking too long brushing my teeth. 22 minutes left. That's £0.74, apparently. Some sinis like the Magnetic Fields. This: http://www.roadwaffles.com/oily/d/20010101.html isn't even remotely connected to them in any way. But it's a bit like the the Bad Art Collection by Jhonen Vasquez. Who is better than Stevie Meritt at hockey. Maybe. I was in #sini the other way. Minka said the secret of romantic success is, among other things, to be "yourself". I have not been myself, at all, for even a moment since age, oh, fourteen. Should I be worried? I'm not overly concerned either way, I wouldn't want to go back to being me even if it did lead to gettin' squidgy. Yesterday: Girl who is a vague acquaintance: Hey Greg. My friend really fancies you, by the way.... Me: Ah, right, cool... who? G.w.i.a.v.a: Ah, she said not to tell. Me: Um, what's the point of that then? Gwaiava: Errr... dunno. Me: Right, then. I mean, really. It's just silly. I was wrong, and Supreme by Robbie is actually a better song than Teenage Dirtbag. Only just, but nevertheless, Robbie returns to the podium, and Wheatus are relegated to merely Second Best Single of The Noughties. I used to think that if I shouted as loudly as I could, I would keep getting louder forever, until buildings fell down. I never did, because I was scared. I believed this until years later, when I did, only to find puberty had robbed me of my superhuman shouting ability. I can still shout underwater so loud it can be heard across a swimming pool, though. That's apparently quite rare. 2 minutes left. Ummm... Yes. Right. Gorillaz, man! Blinding, blinding record. Something. Yes. Goodnight. ----- Greg +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+