Although it is hardly philosophical, I can't help thinking that there are two sorts of days. One where nothing can go wrong, and the other where everything falls apart in one's hands. Perhaps it is just the result of complacency that it seems as if these diurnal patterns are irreversible. Once the trend is there for the day, nothing can be done. Or maybe there is some whimsical homonculus bestowing good days and bad days on people, keeping his little accounts sheets like a demonised accountant. A week good. A week bad. This person has had far too long feeling bad. Today the sun will seem to shine even if it is overcast. No, not very philosophical at all. I should be ashamed really. But would it have been more interesting if I had of written that it was all down to chemicals and that we're really organic machines? Since it seems the style of the 21st century to sacrifice beauty for economics, I prefer to sacrifice philosophy to being interesting. The point of this, however, was that it seemed as if today was a bad one for me. Everything started off badly. But it has all been reversed, not least because, in the same day, people have mentioned Iron Maiden and Confessions... films. I have had a bit of a fondness for Robin Askwith ever since I saw one of his film on Channel 5 at some ungodly hour of the night when I no doubt should have been doing something more productive than watching saucy British comedies. Nevertheless, I can't help but smile when I recall all those scenes when his pale arse is bobbing up and down on top of some buxom English wench, only to be interrupted by some old biddy barging in, setting off a fire extinguisher or any number of other hilarious calamities. And as for Iron Maiden, well, I can't help but raise a smile about them, too. Especially the trousers. And the screeching. I think, if I were to do karoake again (which is unlikely after the rendition of Jailhouse Rock I gave in Las Vegas), I think I would do Run to the Hills. Just to try and scream like Bruce Dickinson. My voice would probably give up and crack, though. I could always try and cover up by saying I was really singing it in the style of Emily Dickinson. In addition to these joys, I bought a record of the Sound of Music today, for 50 pence. I feel a little bit of glee at how I managed to come away so cheaply with something so wonderful. It is as if a little bit of joy slipped through the net of capitalism, directly into my hands. I even had money left over to buy a Wispa in the Underground. And, since everything is going so well, I should stop to bask a while. Then I can sleep and, with all the luck in the world, when I wake up it will be a sunny Spring day and not this cold weather which seems to be doggedly clinging on, quite disinterested in the time of the month or the fact that I am sick to death of grey skies and tedious, soporific rain. I wish everyone well, and hope that the aforementioned homonculus is kind to them. Ruvi. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+