I went out on Saturday night. I had a real cliche of a cold, all streaming eyes and red nose and sniffles and general misery. I sat next to a very very dull sci-fi fan at a Chinese restaurant. Anything produced without the involvement of William Shatner was pronouced 'crap'. I blew my nose on the Christmas napkins (a bit early, I think, but then Christmas does seem to get earlier every year, no?). It was a friend's birthday, she insisted on doing karaoke. I hate karaoke. It makes me squirm inside. My friend stood in front of the machine, singing occasionally, having a chat with her mates occasionally. I sniffled. Sexy Susan arrived in a cloud of expensive perfume and terrifying cleavage. She bought me a whisky, patted my shoulder, and told me to go dancing. I always do what Sexy Susan tells me to, so off I went. We went to a terrific club called Brighton Beach, mod/indie/hipster heaven. Aren't mod boys ace? I watched a group of them in their handsome suits and stramge little hair-dos dancing away and strutting their stuff. They're so... victorious, like a winning football team. And every sone that comes on, they look at each other and raise their fists in the air, "They're playing OUR song!" Of course they are, you silly boys, the flyer for the club has a picture of The Jam on the front! They look so proud and cocky. Bless 'em. It must be nice to be so pleased with life. It must be nice to have a gang to dance with and to swap ties with. Oh, and they looked so young! Sixteen years old and fresh faced. Yes, I was tempted to put one in my pocket. My own personal mod. I could stand him on the shelf and ask him style tips. I got rather drunk, and returned home with a bag of damp, snot-sodden tissues on my back. I went into #sinister for a wee chat, so I smoked and listened to TWATTYBUS and blathered on about nothing. After a while, I looked round my room. YIKES! There's a girl in my room! The loved one had snuck back to my house and was sitting on my bed. And had been for twenty minutes! How odd and rather spooky. She giggled at me, thought I was mad as a bucket. I signed off. I will soon have a Sinister visitor. Stacey Dahling is coming to play for a bit. I will take her for walks by the canal and out for noodles and then to see 'Storytelling' at my local independant arts venue. It's be nice to have someone new to talk to. I wonder if she knows what she's letting herself in for.... I got 70% on Laura Llew's friendship test. What does this mean? I'm not good enough to read to her, but I'm good enough to bind her books? I, too, await the next installment of Mark Casarotto's domestic chores saga with anticipation. When he runs out of floors to scrub, there's plenty here. Love Madeleine xxx _________________________________________________________________ MSN Photos is the easiest way to share and print your photos: http://photos.msn.com/support/worldwide.aspx +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+