So that was that. 2000. Shiraz Cabernet Sauvignon. Mulberries. A good year, in other words. And this is something else, a new century. But before we look ahead, it's time for reflection. Unless you happen to be a vampire, of course. Garlic! Ha ha ha, don't worry. So what did we see? Well, in January we danced the night away and slowed the clock down like whirling dervishes, or superman. With tiger ears. In April we dreamed of England, then realised we were there, then thought we might just be in Poland, and ended up on the beach like Neil, like Kirsty's boy. We gained some heroes and some enemies, both of which were a lot of fun. You can read about it somewhere. Kevan, where art thou? In May we were troubled, but not so much that we couldn't dance. Jane gave us a semi-religious experience, tears at Bowlie, before bedtime. I'm thinking of 126. Or was it 630? Whatever. The week never ends round here. We were asked some silly questions, we got some free records, always a bonus, and some other things we hadn't bargained for. Everything swathed in scarlet. Perfect. The two greatest bands of the last two decades both came back to excite us, but the album of the year should have been the album of another year. Never mind, better late than never for the seaside hopefuls; Feargal Sharkey was right, it seems. Future generations can read the faded lettering on John Peel's gravestone. The rest of the year was spent in the pleasant company of old and new friends, through watermelon weather and lilac wrapping, flying fretting fingers and lunacy on the dancefloor. Booty! On the eve of a new millenium we toasted Kirsty (it semed only fitting) and almost heard a rendition of one of her sweetest moments drifting over the river. One to look out for in the new age, we reckon. And when we woke up, we discovered that nothing had really changed at all, and we were still in love. With whatever. With most things. She put her fears to one side and took the early flight. He went the other way to chase a dream. He might have to wake up soon, though. Maybe he can pull a Rip Van Winkle and get away with it for a bit longer. Soon it'll be back to the grind for you though, boy. Don't think about the future, it doesn't exist. JuicyLucy talked about bras. Lisa Morrison talked about the abscence of bras. This is all too much for a boy to take. Stop it, please, or I'll have to call the police. Still, I've written a poem for the occassion. No support, bare chest She'll lift her top at your behest Still, she's making me depressed Saying "Is that really the best you have to offer?". Alasdair2001Cook xx _________________________________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free E-mail from MSN Hotmail at http://www.hotmail.com. +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the undead 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 +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "tech-heads and students" +-+ +-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+ +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "peculiarly deranged fanbase" "frighteningly named +-+ +-+ Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+