..... or did they find me? <An old photo with a faded, grainy texture> A picture from the dawn of the eighties of a six year old boy with a big grin and unfeasibly large NHS specs on. Not to mention a tres cool (in retrospect) t-shirt with the word 'laser' on it. He has just been told he has to wear glasses forever because he reads too much. Already showing signs of being clever, he is unaware at present that the combination of natural mental and enhanced visual acuity will forever mark him out as a 'swot', a 'brainbox' and immediately mark him out as an easy target in the parks and playgrounds of East London. Indeed, he is far to amazed with his new found ability to see objects more than ten yards away to be concerned with the such future problems.... <Photo dated 'March 89'> A small, unadventurous boy stares out from behind glasses which are still too big for him. He stands in the smart school uniform of a public school to which he gained a scholarship. No-one expected it; no-one in his family has ever got beyond A-levels at school, and most of them were failed. He hates it. He is small, clever, bespectacled and there to boost the grades. The majority of his fellow pupils are large, rich and arrogant. His friends all live far away; he hardly sees them outside of school. It is not a boys-only school, but boys and girls are kept separate until 16. He hasn't spoken to a girl he is not related to for almost three years. He clutches a walkman in his hand; it is the most important thing in his life. Tracking Shot; the camera is following a scruffy young student through the shopping centre of Bristol. It is the middle of January; it is dull, grey and he moves through billowing clouds of his own breath as he walks along. Our hero is now much older; having left school for university, and glasses for contact lenses, he is living in Bristol, where he formerly studied. He is skiving off his dead-end job, trying to cope with the depression that settles as fallout from the festive season. He has a little money left over from Christmas, barely enough to see him through 'til payday, but he knows what he needs. He walks from the shopping centre, up the giant staircase next to John Lewis and then descends the subway into the concrete jungle below; a nightmare of broken benches, urban alienation, tramps and didgeridoo-playing buskers. It's not pleasant, but it's necessary; for on the other side of the subway lies the record shop; not Our Price, or Woolies, but Replay Records - a spiritual haven of recorded music, our heroes gateway into a better world. As he steps inside, he thinks to himself "if I cut down on the cigarettes, I can just afford a new album...". Confronted by the racks he is paralysed by a familiar fear - what if he buys the wrong album? What could he be missing out on? He soon settles, though, and the surroundings soon take on the ambience of a comfortable, favourite room, almost as if a log fire blazes away inside, warming his soul against the greyness outside.... ....the camera follows our hero around as he flips nimbly through the racks. Almost an hour later, he is down to a choice of three, maybe four albums when a red cover, a woman posing langourously depicted on it, catches his eye. The name rings a bell - someone, or something, spoke highly of them somewhere - and he opens the case to find a short story. He stands and reads it, puzzled but with a slow sense of anticipation overtaking him. It's unexpected, but intriguing; he knows he has to buy it. He turns around and walks to the counter with it. The shop assistant carries on filing some records, fully aware of our hero at the counter and then after a short while turns to serve him. Elsewhere, this might have aroused irritation, or anger even, but not here; our hero has been in the same position, done the same job, and done the same thing. He hands the assistant the CD, and waits while a copy is retrieved fr him. Assistant (casually, whilst inserting the CD in the case): "That'll be 11.99, please" Our hero hands over the cash. The assistant hands him back the change. Assistant:"3.01 change. Thanks" Our Hero:"Cheers" As he pushes his way through the door clutching the CD in a small plastic carrier bag, our hero realises that darkness has fallen already, and pulls his coat together as he starts to make his way home through the evening gloom. Fade... Apologies for the length of this introduction, but I had to get it off my chest; I've only had access to the net for the last few weeks and only recently came across the list. It came as quite a surprise to find such a community of B&S fans out there, especially as I'd never meet anyone who liked them until quite recently, despite the above discovery occurring in Jan. '97. I hope I will get the opportunity to contribute more to the current discussions soon, but there is an awful lot of archive to get through.... ps, i've only just come across the ink polaroids site and this is my first attempt - again, apologies if required plus i'd like to know what anyone thinks... Barney. +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list please mail "sinister@majordomo.net". To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to "majordomo@majordomo.net". 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