Dear Sinister, Its a cliché to be miserable at Christmas. The Offbeat Belle and Sebastian special. Reporting back. It was fun. I flew the flag for Sinister and danced to every single b&s song played, and some others too. It was strange. With people behaving in unexpected ways. I behaved oddly myself and told someone that I dont know at all that his enjoyment of caving was probably something oedipal, something about retreating back into the womb. I asked him if hed ever felt violent urges towards his father. He didnt understand. Birmingham is bleaker than I remember. Grimmer. Last week off the train the first person who talks to me is homeless Dave, pestering me for cash. Have I told you about him? He was on TV recently. I probably have. I didnt give him anything. On the street someone stopped me and asked if I knew where he could buy weed. I told him no. Because I dont. He singled me out, though, from amongst a whole load of people. Perhaps I need to change my image. Are you angry or are you boring? I have my gifts ready for the Sinister present exchange, nothing too flashy. I wont say quite what so I dont spoil the surprise. Im going to send them off tomorrow. Two cows standing in a field. One turns to the other and says: What do you think of all this BSE talk then? The other cow looks up and replies: Doesnt affect me, Im a fucking duck. At the moment Im tired of my English Lit course. I quite fancy quitting and doing a foundation art course. Itd be a massive step backwards because it would mean living at home again for a year and eschewing all the freedom I have in Sheffield, but I want more creative control whats the point in my being here if I cant write how I want? What do you reckon? Im going home for the holidays about this time next week. I cant decide if Im quite looking forward to it or not, last weekend I spent in Birmingham I stayed over at my friends house both nights, only seeing my family fleetingly. I feel a bit guilty about that. One of the ideas I had was that everything you ever said be taken down by some device which would then print out your words in light grey ink on an old dot matrix printer, on the long joined up reams of paper with the faint green print on the back, and everything you had said over the course of a month would be mailed out to you in print form, but minus the original context, so it would just be your own isolated words staring back at you. Reporting Back. I met another list member from Sheffield. Neil. That was nice. Hi Neil. You know that thing people sometimes do, where they exchange phone numbers, knowing full well that neither will call, just so it appears as though they have lots of mates when scrolling through their numbers? I dont do that. Whats the name of that colour that exists where green, grey and brown overlap? My old German teacher used to have a dress in that colour. We could never decide which it was. Debating that was more fun than Grammatik anyhow. This is another toothpaste question. It's another Venn-Diagram thing (some info on John Venn here: http://sue.csc.uvic.ca/~cos/venn/VennJohnEJC.html). It's another duck/rabbit old woman/young woman candlestick/two faces thing. My brother and I used to have big mock-shouty arguments about those where I would insistantly yell "It's a candlestick!" and he "It's two faces!" thus debunking the notion that the whole point is that it can be both. We were philosophers before our time. Did I tell you that the lead singer from the 80s Matchbox B-line Whatever spoke to me the other day? He had just done this terrible gig which I had unfortunately witnessed, hes such a poser I dislike descriptions like this, but theyre a band for people who pretend not to like metal. I like metal. He was lost and couldnt find where his bus was parked. I told him the way. He singled me out, though, from amongst a whole load of people. Perhaps I need to change my image. I suppose I should comment on S*g*r R*s. Actually, no. I wont. Relationships with the people here remain strained the talk has turned to who and where everyone will live next year, unfortunately excluding myself. Not that I mind. I might not even be here next year and I have people to live with if I am anyway. But nonetheless, Very tactless of them. Word Count. Please excuse my brevity. Have a happy Christmas if I dont write before then. - Kieran p.s. I remember ages ago when we were on holiday somewhere, on the beach. When it was time to go home I took a stick and dragged it through the sand as we walked back up towards our caravan. When we reached the edge of the beach and I was forced to abandon the stick I looked back and the little trail I'd left seemed to stretch on for miles. _________________________________________________________________ Add photos to your e-mail with MSN 8. 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