Darling starling pets of mine, I put 'I don't love anyone' on very loudly last night, and put on my new black dress (in one of those posh oxfam shops that sells 'classics' on a Carnaby back street - Chris Gentry of *hem hem* menswear "fame" was in the same shop as us- how we giggled) and danced round my room while my mum shouted at me to "stop banging around up there" from downstairs. Who needs boys when you have Rouge Pulp to slick over your lips and sneer "see, I wouldn't waste this on your lips anyway". We also saw the fat one from that horrible r 'n' b group Another Level shifting his meat around soho. That wasn't meant to sound rude. It's just we refer to him as "Meaty level" as he appears to have a very meaty, erm, head. That wasn't meant to sound rude ethier. They're horribly rude those boys, suggesting getting "freaky" with "you-ooh". Whatever that means. Maybe they show you ways in which they are freakish, like a third nipple or extra toe. That's my guess anyway. It's election time in the sixth form! VOTE MACARTHUR. We're making posters this evening, to pin up around the common room my manic smiling head on Maggy Thatcher's body. (everyone is Rich and Tory-ish in these rural, welly and padded gillet-wearing, rifle brandishing areas) - complete with pearls. I've been rallying half-heartedly all day. "Go on, you'll vote for me won't you? I promise not to moan about the increasingly loud jungle/handbag house tapes you play every break and lunchtime"...only minus the promising part. They even do little dances in their chairs, you know, the darling townie boys, raising their arms above their heads, even sometimes making little tooting gun motions with their fingers in time with the beat, occasionally shouting "Tune!". I always feel like proposing a breakdancing contest, but it's hardly the weather for getting busy with the headspins. I can't WAIT for the new issue of Trousercuts. Do you think it will tell me how to get a boyfriend too, PJ? Wearing too much mascara and pouting doesn't seem to be doing the trick at the moment. I can't wait to see you all at the Baxendale shin-dig on thursday - I'll be the one quietly sipping her gin while glancing at her watch every five minutes, as I've got school in the morning, and if I don't leave before midnight my dress turns into rags and my carriage into a pumpkin. That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it. VOTE MACARTHUR! We shall fight them in "The Firkin" and "The Prince Regent" if it comes to that. You know the score - gangs of townie boys and girls in rebok classics and lyrca skirts telling you that you're the weirdo. Fear not brother and sisters - we shall prevail. Live on. Erica x The House of Scarlet in sailor tops +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the reborn Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail "sinister@majordomo.net". To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to "majordomo@majordomo.net". WWW: http://www.majordomo.net/sinister +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "tech-heads and students" +-+ +-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+ +-+ "jelly-filled danishes" +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+