One never knows what one shall find in an attic. Jane Eyre said that. Actually, no she didn't. Its a long time since I read it, and it seemed eaiser to make something up. I'd imagine she would have said something less whimsical...more practical, being good at that sort of thing. She wasn't even fazed when she found out her chap had another wife, locked in a secret room. Well, perhaps a little...but, y'know, she was very down to earth about it. Were they more grounded times? I am imagining the reaction of her facebook chums now ("OMG! Just met Eddie's first wife! What a fucking MENTALIST! So glad he's met someone fabby and hot this time lol" (Blanche Ingram, Jean Rhys and 3 others LIKE your post)). Perhaps a more modern Jane wouldn't have tried to hard to get so know the misogynistic fucker, and would have contented herself with an Etsy account selling hand-woven egg cups. Probably a better outcome, long-term. People will always eat eggs. Except vegans. And even they can find joy in the graceful curve of the bowl, the subtle suggestiveness of a thin-necked stem, and the pleasing solidity of the base. I know vegans that can spend months, years even, staring at a kitchen implement. Yeah, Jane would have stayed focussed. She kept her attic clean. After all, she never knew when she might end up living there. Perhaps the sinister attic looks like Jane Eyre's. I imagine it might be a little different though. Lots of half-forgotten memories, mementos...trunks of random shite... What's in this one? T-shirts.. Did these things ever fit? Were we really so svelte, or did we fool ourselves that our youthful insouciance, devil-may-care frippery and air of wild abandon would allow us to decorate our torsos in any way we saw fit? Neither of the above, perhaps. Wild abandon could be too much like hard work. It can be difficult to be spontaneous when you're staring at your feet. What else is there up here? So many photographs. I'm sure we had some ink polaroids around here somewhere? Maybe later. I'll need my glasses for those. Can we save them somewhere where no fucker can stick them on Instagram? Anything else? Badges, hair-grips, hair-dye, Hello Kitty, Goodbye Kitty, Yknow I've moved on and I don't think its still appropriate that you contact me Kitty, GLO STICKS...(wow - I'll keep these. I still love glo sticks. Though I notice I'm fighting the urge to spell it with a "w"), old worn out suits and shoes, half-digested lyrics, cassettes stretched to breaking point, compilation tapes, corduroy, corduroy and more corduroy. How these hugged our hips. I remember how this pair flared at the heel. And that, for some reason, I saw that as a good thing. Concert tickets. Hopes, dreams, changes, memories. Will you come and visit? Its a little dusty, but there's space for a blanket, a few bottles of wine, maybe there's a box of beer up here... Actually, nope, there's no beer... I can find baby milk, immodium, moist toilet tissue and Regaine. I'm sure at least one of them doesn't belong to me. ----------- So - I sat at the traffic lights this morning, and I thought about Sinister. I know that sounds like the mailing list equivalent of "oh wow, how nice to hear from you! I was just about to call YOU!", but I'm sticking to my story here... I felt a shift towards a happier mental state, and attributed it to a weekend spent with friends, watching bands, being a bit more selective (smug?) about it than I would have been once upon a time, but even so feeling lucky to be around people who would do something as thoughtful as organising such an event. I drove away from Glasgow Green and reflected, as I often do, how strange and unexpected it was that I ended up here...and subsequently wondered, as I often subsequently wonder, if there was something inevitable about it all along. I followed a dream up to Glasgow - love, change, a new life, a grown-up life in a big exciting city (apparently Birmingham wasn't big enough - although 2 million inhabitants might claim otherwise). What a joy a dream can be. What a fucker a dream can be. Who knows how a dream will flow, and change? I hear some dream lucidly - they step into these flights of whimsy, and manage to control them with their Special Clever Minds. Maybe I'll learn that trick one day. Errr...where was I going with that? I'm not sure... Jane Eyre would have stayed focussed. I've never been very good at that. But maybe there are other things I can do that she couldn't. Frankly, I'm a bit sick of Jane Fucking Eyre being so self-congratulatory. If he'd liked you THAT MUCH, HE WOULDN'T HAVE WAITED UNTIL HE COULDN'T SEE YOU, FUCKER!! Oh yes, there was maybe some point to the above...and it seems the point was that there might have been more than one fantasy involved in coming here. Glasgow - home of the aah, the tra-la-la, the "I would like to climb high in a tree, I could be happy. I COULD BE HAPPY!". There are so many stories of this city - set out in songs, whispered at picnics, danced from Minehead to Moseley. I knew much of it was myth. But myths are what we need, sometimes - what's more captivating than a tall tale? And Glasgow is full of them. Sometimes a little too full. I think some of the first that really caught my attenion involved being happy, for a day, in 1975. Or a parrot, on your shoulder, saying everything when you talk. In less mythical stories, as I slump into Easterhouse Health Centre on a Wednesday afternoon, trying my best to look energised, professional, and like somebody who has some idea of how to help others, I ponder on a song about someone coming to Easterhouse because they like the sound of it. My God, what sort of person goes somewhere just because they like the sound of it? Oh...hang on... ------- Back to the attic, then. I'm so pleased we can still get in. I'm wondering who, or what will come through this door. And... Its nice looking at all these memories, but we don't have to stay hidden up here, do we? The dust only irritates my asthma, and I'm careful with that, these days. I reckon a lot of this old stuff still works - we can brush off the cobwebs, take it out into the light. Rumour has it there's a way out of this attic that doesn't involve burning down the mansion and climbing onto the roof. Maybe a question on facebook - "does anyone know how to get out of an attic?".... "If enough people sign this petition, the government will build a staircase. And a few of us will start using capital letters - at the START of sentences. Sometimes." Will you help me get these wicker chairs downstairs? We shall take tea on the lawn, and dream of a time when we are free from all the trouble we're in. Shall that ever happen, my old friend? Can you bring elevenses? Oh, my favourite cheese is a Jarlsberg. It seems that much has remained the same. But how kind of you to ask. Ta Ian +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+