Well, as Tara ('ello chuck!) was so concerned about me and my tales of Nu Yorican debaucherie (I'm trying to work out how to transcribe the kind of strangled chortle that implies that this couldn't be further from the truth) in a letter I evidently haven't read yet, I shall have a go at adding my rather feeble tuppenceworth to the kerfuffle surrounding the New York extravaganza. I wish I didn't feel more and more scared of flying each time I get on an aeroplane. There's a little man with pince-nez glasses in the recesses of my head working out the probability of coming a cropper at 35,000 feet, and ticking off each time I stagger off a Boeing 72/3/4/5/67. It's the taking off I hate most. And that couple of seconds on landing when the plane bounces back into the air, filling my mind with images of huge pieces of machinery spiralling out of control at 150 miles per hour. And, most pointlessly, the fact that in my head the plane has a consciousness of its own, and at some point is going to think "hmmm, I'm 250 tons of metal, glass and plastic. I should be exerting a force of 2.5 million newtons on the surface of the planet, yet here I am soaring 7 miles above it. Soon fix that...". Apologies to anyone of nervous disposition about to go on an aeroplane. Moving onto debauchery - well, I'll keep you guessing...I didn't get offered any nookie whatsoever, and only got offered drugs once, in Central Park of all places, despite doing my level best to frequent all the dodgiest East Village dives and speakeasies. I was astonished at the expense of the city - coming from London, you can usually go on holiday to be greeted by charmingly inexpensive things that would make you grumble no end at home, but New York proved the exception. Except for clothes, of which I only bought one item. How pathetic. Still, inspired by the ravishing Milla of this parish, I did purchase a pair of New Balance trainers which made come over all unnecessary. But enough of this tedium. Let's move onto *this* tedium instead. The New York gigs were unconditionally superb in pretty much every aspect, with the possible exception of Isobel's evident discomfort on Sunday night. Poor lamb. Stuart's Arms Of Sex were a high point, though - that boy doesn't fool me with his softly spoken, timid demeanour - there's a sky-high sexual confidence lurking behind those steel-grey eyes (I don't know what colour they really are, but steel-grey suits my fantasy) and cruel yet sensual lips, and by the look of you lot it's got hormone levels up to a record high...On first listening, it seems like Slow Graffiti is going to be another skyscraper of R!O!C!K!, which is reassuring after the relative paucity of inspiration on Tautbuttocks, and the cover of Turn Turn Turn made me feel very happy and strangely proud of my little darlings. I really, really adore this band, and all who sail in her. But the best thing about NYC was the company of the listees I was lucky enough to meet. I'm only sorry that I didn't get to speak to some of you more, particularly Matthew, Brian, Michele, Minka and the legendary Jonny (are you feeling a bit better love?), and of course all of you that I'm kicking myself for not having got in touch with. But I did get to spend quality time with the delightful Kristen S, who was everything I could have wanted from my very first list crush, and dead good looking into the bargain, and the Queen Bee Janine herself, who is no doubt the coolest person I will ever meet, no contest. But the person who made my stay as fulfilling as it was was the fabulous Anastasia (along with her equally ace friends), who gave up so much of her time to look after me, order me "difficult" sandwiches, force me to try on rather sexy designer apparel, and reluctantly join me in consuming much beer (what the hell is Heineken Dark, anyway?). I'm humbled by how thoughtful and gorgeous you all were, and I hope I get the chance to show you the same level of hospitality when (not if, don't even think about it) you come over to England. So there you go. I was lying about there being any debauchery, but I'm sure my young lady would have had something to say otherwise... Love to you all, The Little Blonde one p.s. isn't the duke's address tangent@lineone.net (i.e. without the s) or am I being thick? p.p.s Paul Field, Mr score draws, are you free on the 22nd November? +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list please mail "sinister@majordomo.net". To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to "majordomo@majordomo.net". For list archives and searching, list rules, FAQ, poor jokes etc, see http://www.majordomo.net/sinister +---+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" +---+ +-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+