Hello darlings, It has been some time since I even turned on this little white box in the corner. Life gallops past, and the hooves make dents in all sorts of unfortunate places. Oh life, stop a while, come to tea. I've made donuts. Actually, I bought them. Actually, I stole them from Kwiksave. I smuggled them out down my knickers. Everyone is doing it, so Stephen Hewitt tells me. They're still quite edible if you brush off the hairs. Here have one. Have two. Wasn't it the Buddha that said "Eat donuts while you may?". Or was it Clare Grogan? I always get those two mixed up. Go on, its your special birthday treat from me. 8 years, eh? I wonder if my 8th birthday was a wild ride of rock n roll, crazy dancing and those little sweets you used to get that looked like flying saucers but tasted like a squirrel had shat in your mouth. I wonder if, like Rachel, I played with french fishes and threw a cricketer? Probably not. What does one play with a french fish anyway? I suspect you have to live in Brighton to know. I guess the day slipped by with me feeling slightly square, and unsure, and forgetting to thank those people who loved me for doing the best they could for me, because I was too caught up in myself. Not unlike those traits, many years later, that led me to buy a little red CD with a louche lounging lass on the front and promise of something dark within - who'd have known what wonderful people lived inside the CD? Not just the imaginary sort of people either. Real ones. More real than the people who live under the fridge. And more friendly than most of those that didn't. Some of you lived in a world that looked and felt a little bit like mine. And though that world doesn't feel like it did any more, in fact it changes from day to day, I know that you've touched it, somewhere. So, yeah, happy 8th birthday, sinister. Thanks for all you've done for me. And you've really done a lot. I hope we can celebrate your 9th birthday with something long and cool, with an ice cube and a slice of lemon. Failing that, a drink will do instead. When you're 10, you'll start finding my jokes funny. Oh yes. That's what happens when you're 10. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ So - I didn't post at the start of last month. Right at the very start, I wanted to talk about Rachel's wedding, the smiles of the beautiful couple and the friends dancing, drinking on the beach and sitting in the Southern sun. For just a few days after the event, I had a great big smile. Then, things changed. And I'll miss one of those friends, though I never got the chance to know her as well as I would have liked. And I wish I'd told her how much I liked her, though part of me consoles myself that she knew. I don't see my Sinister friends often enough. Such are the perils of living in parochial, uncivilised regions in the Far North (or Deep South, depending where you're coming from). I realised the last time I saw Liz that it had been nearly a year. We said that it was far too long, and that it wouldn't be so long next time. Still, it felt like she understood me, somehow, saw through the bullshit and sort of liked me despite that. Perhaps she liked the bullshit a bit, too. I was going to show you some ink polaroids, since they seem to be the new old thing, but you'll have some of your own I'm sure. Mine are all smeared with beer and uncertainty. The hand that took them is steadier, but the mind still wibbles from time to time. If I did pick one, it would be the group of us dancing to S Club 7, enjoying the fact that we all secretly liked the song rather a lot - I think it was Don't Stop Movin', though I remember it as Reach For The Stars. The promises in that are prettier, if harder to believe. I catch her eye, and she raises her eyebrow. I laugh, and things seem wonderful, for that moment. Rachel and Matt just got married. I'm so happy for them, and sort of happy for us, being here, getting to share it with them. I could say a lot more in that vein, but you have your own memories and I'm not sure that you need many more of mine. I've drafted a few mails lately but like a few others, I suspect, I feel a bit clumsy with what I've written, and worried of causing more sadness. I hope that hasn't happened but that's why it was short, and it took a while, and its hidden under talk of squirrels and baked goods. I'll come back to right now, then. So, yeah, happy birthday little one - or as happy as you can be. Thanks for the friends you brought me. I can hardly believe you're 2000 feet tall. No longer a boy with naivety, but perhaps still believing that type can succeed. Because some days the implausible promises are the best, and we all have to believe in something. Maybe the Buddha said that. Maybe he didn't. Buddhered if I know. Remember, when you're 10, that sort of thing will make you laugh. Oh yes. Love and birthday kisses. Uncle Ian. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+