Hallo Here's the contribution for the month. Maybe it will make up for last months getting lost in the post. Can one day we have a picnic that isn’t on top of a big hill? If we took a trip to the Norfolk broads, it would be flat. And full of boats and dykes. That would cater to everyone’s tastes, no? I shall still go to the picnic. I can't help it. I won't remember any of your names though. Unless you're pretty. I’ll be the one looking tired. And possibly the one rolling down the hill with Ms MacArthur. I have to go to work in 10 minutes. I’m increasingly sick of it. The outgoings are not worth the rewards. I’m sick of people wanting my time. Specifically, I’m sick of men who reply 'Your phone number' when asked 'Would you like anything else?' Just give me the money and fuck off, as my friend Tom says. Only, there's no money involved on the deli. ‘Just tell me how many slices of Sopocka you’d like and fuck off’ doesn’t sound the same. I went back to Oxford on Sunday. It was quiet and pretty. I could have stayed. I was in the loft when I heard movement downstairs. It was my marvellous brother wandering around looking for me, a miniature cockerel in his hand. 'What are you doing with that bird?' I enquired. He climbed the ladder into the loft, and said 'Meet Jontyclew'. At least, that’s what it sounded like. He put the tiny thing on the floor, and it made straight for the section where my father grows interesting plants. I spent the next 10 minutes in loft space, which for the entire world could have been a replica of Warhol's factory, chasing an undersize rooster. We didn’t tell my dad, but he'll wonder why there's hen poo in the loft, I guess. All the post boxes round here have notices across the slot saying ‘Royal Mail Closed’. How can a post box be closed? I suspect it may be something to do with that strike in support of football hooliganism. I object to being affected by news stories. I could get stopped in the street and asked my opinion. I don’t like this one bit. Hot damn! Anne Robinson and her minions could be quizzing me at the drop of a hat. Better watch my back, hadn’t I? Alice Beer could be lurking. Sarah Clarke, this is another reason why you haven’t received your birthday present yet. At The Drop of A Hat was the title of a Flanders and Swann tape I had when I was younger. I loved it to bits. Our family weren’t big on buying tapes. I remember my brother once got a ‘learning to tell the time’ cassette. It was intensely irritating. All I recall is a song on it with these lyrics ‘You can chuck it in a bucket, you can throw it at the wall’. I still don’t know what that has to do with time, but I do recall secretly destroying the tape and then blaming a poltergeist. alix ________________________________________________________________________ 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 +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+