Dear Sinister, This is the post you've all been waiting for. A Day In The Life Of A Sinisterine! I know that I don't represent more than 1/1599 of the list (or perhaps 1/3 if the rumour that we all have eighteen billion addresses each is to be believed) but I figured that seeing as I'm on a list that's "about the lives of People Who Listen To Belle And Sebastian" I should provide my very own two-bit insight. I got off work at 2:30pm on Friday, because our office is moving and almost all of the few hundred employees were told they could leave whenever. So we all scampered down the pub. In the beginning it was an odd collection of elderly temps, professional secretaries, frustrated careerists, an engaged eighteen year old part time soon-to-be-housewife and myself. Slowly we all became a jumbled mess of cigarettes, pool cues and beverages. I can tell you it was highly taxing wandering about in the sunshine with friends knowing we were being paid to go and drink for 4 hours. In the end I managed to play a full game of pool and somehow managed to win, though I'm certain that in my inebriated state I failed to notice that the other team had won half an hour ago or something. Failing that, they probably pushed the black in themselves to get me out of there. To add spice to the already sozzled mixture, I then had to arrange getting to Camden and meeting up with Miss Marianna to attend another work drinks occasion. This time for my boss from my previous job, as she was leaving to travel around the UK in a campervan with her boyfriend. Unfortunately, by the time I got there I was already a bit tipsy and couldn't quite work out how to make small talk with these people that I barely knew. So I stood in the corner with a pint and a cigarette and babbled continuously to my ex-boss until I caught sight of Marianna and blessed her for coming just in the nick of time. At least I tried to bless her in some way. I think it just came across as a drunken slur and a hug. We discussed many things that I can't remember, but seemed to find ourselves often returning to the topic of whether or not we should leave. So we did. I think I ate burger king or something equally offensive, but the next clear memory is being awoken by the phone and hearing Marianna's voice say something about "today". Gradually I remembered that we had arranged to do "stuff". So we made our arrangements, she came over and we went off to frolic in London. Again, the sun was shining brightly and it was nice and warm and happy. Marianna said she was going to sneeze so I sang T-Shirt Weather by the Lucksmiths as it seemed fitting. We caught trains and tubes and watched people and walked and talked. The plan was to find some replacement stuff for the things we had stolen last weekend and then see a film. I bought a cd or 5 (not even half of the 11 I had stolen! Bastards!) but at least now I have The Shins and Papa M again. Things might settle down now. We bought Marianna a phone, which was as satisfying as it was exciting, as we then had the prospect of choosing numbers, colours, ringtones and paying for the privilege. We vacated the commercial whirlpool after spending far too much and decided to walk around for an hour or two before filming. Regent St was packed with people enjoying the first glimpse of sunlight and stripping down to their bare essentials to make the most of it. Meanwhile we cursed our forward planning and wished our coats were home and not on our arms. A man threw a sticky man at a wall and he fell down in a comical fashion. I laughed and attempted to retell the tale to Marianna. I failed. She laughed. We saw a van proclaiming that the driver's name was Mr Softie. We sympathised but felt that he should've done better. Mr Whippy always worked, why differ. Something about Mr Chippy and an occupation for all seasons was mentioned, but I lost the thread somewhere around The Commitments. Covent Garden was decided upon as the perfect venue to see our most eagerly awaited film of the week. The Royal Tenenbaums! I could go on and on about the film and it's merits, but I figured I'd just say it badly and make people hate it, so I won't. Instead I'll say that the soundtrack was excellent, including two Nico, one VU, one Elliott Smith, one Nick Drake and a dark horse in an early Van Morrison song that I didn't recognise for the closing credits. We loved it. Discussions were held as to where we could best spend a sunny afternoon in London within walking distance of Covent Garden. In the end we gave up and sat in Trafalgar Square sipping warm beverages and watching small children terrorising pigeons. Amazingly, we were not shat upon by a single terrified bird in our 1+ hour sojourn. I didn't realise that was possible in Trafalgar Square. We watched more small children tread awfully close to plunging into the depths of the fountain, but alas none were so inclined. As the sun shone faintly on Big Ben and prepared to exit this long good Friday, we made our way up to Ketners to finish our day with meal made in Pizza Express but eaten in the Waldorf. The meal was great, but the lady who took our bill decided to take it upon herself to take a £5 as a tip. We stayed at the table and eventually she brought it back and we left her 10% instead. I'm still scared of tipping, but I would've given her more if she hadn't decided to take the full amount for herself. Cripes, I'm such a whinger! Anyhow, we decamped and thus ended a fabulous day of meanderings and wanderings in a sun and tourist filled city on the cusp of a glorious summer (supposedly). It was nice. I must do it again sometime. Anyone up for it? Well I've hogged the spotlight for far too long and I'd say that by now I've alienated anyone brave enough to attempt reading this bollocky drivel. So I shall leave by saying that I'm off to Edinburgh/Glasgow/Dundee tonight to see people, pets and gigs. I'm excited about going north again, as I've missed it so. As I type this, however, there's a rather scary domestic going on next door. It makes me think of those adds that say not to beat your kids and stuff. My imagination has conjured up the next flat as looking like a TV house with a nasty alcoholic parent and a victimised kid. I know I'll never know the truth in this. Though the people next door seem to make shouting a daily family activity. The mother has the best voice for it. She has one of those shrill and scary old cranky mother's voices. She used it best a few weeks ago, shouting something long and indecipherable, just before throwing what I think was a saucepan at her (I think) husband. It's odd, because the fighting scares me and I worry about the people involved, but it's really hard for me to relate now that I don't have a family to fight with. I don't think my housemates would be too pleased if I shouted at them and proceeded to heave kitchen implements at them. However, I'm sure that some of you have been in flatshares where that wouldn't have come as a surprise. I do worry about the kids next door, but I could have it wrong. The screaming mother could infact be a hateful teenager that's beating her parents. I know it's unlikely, but it's possible. I'm going to shut up now as the hole is being dug further by my feeble attempts at clarification. Right, I'll see some of you at the picnic on Monday, some of you at the gig on Monday, some of you at the gig on Wednesday and the rest of you can bless your cotton blend socks that I'll be elsewhere. Sorry for rambling. Jeremy ------------------------------------------ http://www.breams.co.uk Home of all things breamsy +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+