hello sinister, as you might have guessed, there was a "picnic" on Saturday in Breams' honour. We had inteded on celebrating after he left the country, but we were too impatient to wait. I say picnic, in inverted commas,because I'd personally been hoping for an orgy. Wrong party, I guess. I could tell you lots of things about it, but I see that pigtails, lucy, And Richard The Lurker (Is that like, a title, like Richard the Lionheart? Or Alexander The Great?) and co have beaten me to it, and Richard has thus renounced his throne by not lurking. Doh! Breams put me in charge of his guitar until he returns. I was considering setting up a guitar creche, so if theres anyone with nicer guitars than mine, who would like their little darlings to be looked after by one almost careful person, then let me know. Then I started remembering how I got my first guitar. *the screen goes all hazey as we are transported back to 1994* I was 15. It was the year Kurt Cobain shot himself, only a few months after I'd discovered who he was. I didn't actually discover him- I like to think that was some record company man, but i only found out who he was recent to his death. It was the year that Suede released "Stay Together" and Bernard Butler left; The year when Wet Wet Wet were at number 1 for 15 weeks- toppled by some dizzy dididadida dane singing about saturday night. And I was fifteen, in my fourth year, about to take my standard grade exams. I'd met this boy. I had met boys before, but this was a special sort of boy- the sort you fancy. Not that he was much to look at. He had long, tangled dark brown hair, he wore black scuffed Doc Marten boots and black jeans. He had deep dark brown eyes, and wolf teeth- a spare set of teeth growing through his upper gum. He liked to wear four tops- A lemonheads one (Come On Feel The Lemonheads, I think) A levellers one, a Carter USM one and I can't remember the last one. He used to wear his short sleeved t shirt over his long sleeved one, usually under a plaid shirt, all hangin' very loose and baggy. He was a minger. He was my rock god. (well, apart from Brett Anderson, but thats another story... bottom slapping flouncer- no wonder I got into Belle And Sebastian...) This boy I fancied. He worked in the school library. He barely ever spoke, but when he did, he had this rumbling deep voice. Himand his friends used to sit at lunch times reading the NME, and saying "fuck" alot, and doing Beavis And Butthead impressions. Me? I had no indie friends. I'd only just discovered Animal Nitrate the year before by accident on my Smash Hits compilation tape, and had secretly been trying to get my head round why I found those wailing orgasmic guitars so darn sexy- without my parents overhearing it from my room when i was obviously supposed to be studying. I had posters of Keanu Reeves and Johnny Depp and Evan Dando, taken from Just 17 when they went grunge, and Smash Hits, tucked inside my blue ring binder for Technological Studies. I kept Smash Hits stickers of Brett Anderson in my private "Keep out! Really Private!!! If you read this I'll kill you!!" diary, with words and phrases like "Brett Anderson- 100% official sexgod" written next to it, in gold pen. I still have this dairy, and its a hoot to read actually. Anyway, this boy. I asked him out. He said yes. I was over the moon. I sort of asked him out actually. I think I called him a tosser or something, and then flirted with him for a week. Every time I saw him, he blushed at me. It started off with a discussion about music, and how he was going to see Nirvana play, in April in Edinburgh- it might have been Glasgow though. And I asked if he had a spare ticket. And he said no. And I asked why not. And he looked a bit confused. And I called him a tosser, cos he should have gotten m one, and then we were inseperable. The relationship itself lasted a month. We never got round to kissing. I wrote in my diary, how I tried to kiss him, but he moved away, and I missed. And I got his chin instead, and headbutted his nose in the process. Towards the end, he stopped talking to me. He wouldn't even acknowledge me, and started drooling over pictures of Eva Herzigova, who I think had started her Wonderbra "Hello Boys!" campaign, and acting basically, like a boy. And I don't ever like being ignored. So after a week of deliberating, and conferring with my friends by messages written in the back of orange maths jotters during class (we didn't have mobile phones back in those days) I decided our relationship was over. I was about to start study leave for my standard grades, so I sat, one evening in April, writing him a "Dear John" letter. His name wasn't john, by the way. I remember it so well, sitting here at my desk, as I am now. The sky had turned to late dusk, and I had my lamp on, and was listening to The Evening Session on Radio One, back in the days when I taped it, and Jo Whiley still presented it. I remember they played a song by Motorcycle Boy called "Big Rock Candy Mountain" while I wrote this letter. Anyway.I posted the letter. I went for a walk with a pal, who I went to primary school with. She had went to a different secondary school, and after a rocky start (Her dad made her wear school uniform and carry a breifcase on her first day, that he had bought her for her birthday. She got bullied rotten for a year. By 14, she rebelled against going to church on sundays and wearing laura ashley dresses, listening to music he didn't like, playing guitar instead of attending piano lessons- eventually he raided her room- throwing out her clothes, tapes, and posters of Axl Rose, He made her do lessaons at schoolshe didn't want to- so she made her own portfolio for standard grade Art with the help of her art teacher so she could do it as a higher subject. She went on to become an art therapist, and lives in Birmingham now, working with kids.) Her name was Deirdre. Her boyfriend was best mates with mine. Deirdre listened to my story, and I kept insisting I was over him. Only hours after I'd written this letter. Then iwent home and cried. Study leave came and went.I regretted dumping him. He carried on. He didn't want anything to do with me. The summer term arrived. So did a new crush.Another boy who was into music. His pal fancied my pal. We plotted together to get my friend, Jennifer and his friend together. His name was Andy. Andy was great. He did even better impressions of Beavis And Butthead, and was twice as chatty as the first guy I fancied. We even went out- into edinburgh. We went to play laserquest, and then to the cinema, all with the idea of getting his pal and mine together, on thi double date. Throughout the summer holidays, I couldn't think of anyone else but Andy. I went to Norway, and told my pal there about this guy I liked back home. After summer holidays, Andy ignored me. (see a pattern?) My pal Jennifer changed schools, and I was on my own. At first, I thought "ok, he's back from holiday. No pressure. He'll get round to talking to me, after he's seen his guy pals" but thatnever happened. The indie kids at school didn't like me. I was an outcast with my own kind. They went to Teenage Fanclub gigs, and I wanted to go with them, but I wasn't allowed. They wouldn't let me go with them. The kids at school bullied me. I was in fifth year. I got it from all angles. From the younger year. From my year. I'd hide in a corer of the library, writing stories, just to get through lunchtimes and breaktimes. Andy called me cruel names, so did his pals. They sneered when I walked past. I soon got over my crush for Andy. But I began to miss the guy I'd been out with. He'd been my boyfriend, if only for a month. Surely he must be different? deeper? So anyway. All the boys were into guitars. So what did I do? Decided to ask for a guitar for my 16th birthday. Sure enough, I got one, from a music shop in Hamilton. When I went to tell these blokes, they asked what sort it was. "Accoustic" "Accoustic guitars are shit.". There was a lot more mess at 16, and pretty much for most of being 16, I got bullied. I tried to fit in, but I didn't. I was weird. I was a freak. They caled me that. They wrote it on the blackboard in the common room. So I just listened to Suede on my walkman, and wrote stories and poems. Eventually, it got better. But not for a while. Still. I got a guitar. Sometimes, I'm guilty of buying things to impress people. And usually, it doesn't impress. Like the time I bought a Velvet Underground album so this other bloke would like me, when I was 18. But. The best bit. Forgetting the boys- all the boys- I got some cool stuff. And the remenants of teenage "please like me" moments, are things I love now. My guitar. My Velvet Underground album. I'd rather have them than the boys. You can always have more fun with a guitar than you can with a teenage boy. It'll last a lot longer and be your faithful companion when you need it most. And whats more, I'm off to pretend to be 15 again, and pogo round my room to Suede. she sells hearts, she sells meat, oh dad, shes driving me mad, come see ;) Like. what-eva. idleberry ===== http://groups.yahoo.com/group/corduroysmoke/ starting playground gossip and passing notes __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Yahoo! - Official partner of 2002 FIFA World Cup http://fifaworldcup.yahoo.com +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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. 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