Dearest Sinister, My deepest apologies for the amount of time that has passed since our last correspondence. How I have longed for your communications but, since they do not come, I have had to find other means of distraction and edification. As you will know, it had long been my custom to take the Autumn airs - a carriage up to Thrumpingham Hall, and a brisk stroll around the grounds with the Reverend Cobblepot and his splendid daughter Florence usually suffices. However, in recent times I have become less inclined to venture into the chill; avoidant of precipitation and desirous instead of a warm, reviving fuck - No, a fire... a warm, reviving fire, and a perusal of the works of John Bunyan, Alexander Pope or perhaps, if levity is required, I will permit myself a gentle chortle at the intricate meanderings and fictional absurdities of that popular tome know as New Testament. This volume of stories never ceases to bring amusement. It is as if you were here, once more, my friend: telling us your ribald stories of indigenous woman showing their ankles in public, and men going about without their waistcoats. We would always feign shock that such things could be, but I believe many of your audience may have harboured a secret wish to experience such novelties for themselves. That we have had to become accustomed to living without such tales, my friend, is not to say we do not recall them fondly; nor that we do not wish for their return. Often, in the midst of a particularly irksome needlepoint session, an over-long sermon or one of those tiresome visits from the local peasants, I find my consciousness has left my immediate surroundings and drifted to - DANCING. DANCING LIKE A NINJA! ON THE TABLES! TEQUILA!!! Forgive me, no, that was not quite what I intended. My mind has drifted to the times we would spend together. Who can forget those pleasant moments, tinged as they are with the awareness and regret of subsequent occurences? I rarely see our mutual friends any more. Constance has never entirely recovered from her altercation with a gypsy, and subsequent tumble down the Lyme Regis steps. Valerie has, I fear, spent her days ensconced in her abode since the arrival of some sort of device from an overseas vendor. She named it a rabbit, however it bore little resemblance to such and more to - well, I do not know how to put this in the delicate manner to which you have become accustomed. But the poor girl seems utterly obsessed with the thing, and impervious to all such suggestions that such prolongued solitude may not be beneficial to one's well-being. Well, I shall not keep you with a lengthy missive. I do not know if this will reach you. I believe for a short time my communications were mis-directed. On this occasion, I have given the post-boy a shiney new sixpence and asked him to make haste and despatch his fastest horses and most virile messengers to - Agile messengers. Agile, not virile. Anyway - you should get this, innit? I do hope this finds you in good humour, that the unpleasant chill has now departed, and that the pretty boys and disco are not entirely distracting you from your novel. With fondness Ianjames. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+