Can I be the village reclusive American author? *Can* I be?? Dammit, I *am*! Why does everyone ask? Just be! All this village malarkey reminds me of an experiment formulated by top fop poets Worsdworth and Coleridge in, oh, about 1540 probably. They decided, little poetic scamps that they were, to up-sticks to America and start a new life in a simple self-sustaining village community: a similar concept to our sinister-village, except with fewer fashion-boutiques, sex shops and window-cleaners. As it happens, they only got as far as Wales, where they lived off the land for about 3 hours before giving up ("Sod this for a game of soldiers, Mr Wordsworth. Let's get lashed"). Talking of which, whereabouts is the village to be situated, Ms. Farewell? I always think of little English rose gardens and prettily pealing church bells, but to be true to the B&S cause I thought it should probably be somewhere isolated in the Scottish wilds, which made me think that it could be on one of the islands, which made me think of that ridiculous Castaway programme, which made me think I should probably stop watching so much bad TV and get out more. What else? Robyn whispered into our communal ear:

funny that the whole Y2K thing just was so forgotten when nothing happened. I mean, it's like all that freaking out never happened and it's la de da da da

I was wondering what happened to all the computery types who holed themselves up in bunkers with shotguns and enough food, drink and the opposite sex to ensure the continuation of the human race after the anticipated Y2K meltdown. Did they come crawling out with dreadful hangovers and sheepish expressions, apologising to their bosses after smugly resigning before New Year's eve? Talking of which, Keith M shouted from the rooftops:

american beauty is the worst movie ever

but he was wrong. Kev sounded almost exactly like Holden Caulfield when he declaimed:

Overnight one of the plastic panels on the bus shelter had been kicked out and was laying on the pavement. All the people, me included, just kind of stood around it and pretended it hadn't happened. Is this just something English people do? I really couldn't bring myself to move it out of the way. It was really awkward.

Read Catcher in the Rye for more transference of random emotion to inanimate objects. Or don't. Finally, let's all hope Samantha gets better soon. You should have consulted the *sinister* doctor, dear, in our village :) *He* would have diagnosed strep throat. Or at least given it to you. J. D. Salinger --------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------------- "you take a really sleepy man, Esmé, and he always stands a chance of again becoming a man with all his fac - with all his f-a-c-u-l-t-i-e-s intact" +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+