Well then, here we are again. I neglect my reporting back duties terribly, but in defence, I do have an extensive programme of procrastination to keep up with. MY LIFE ON BUSES OLYMPIC EVENTS ON CRUTCHES To my shame, I didn’t attend the last instance of Tigermilking, but it has been splendiferously described by others including Steady Organiser Stefano and the non-more-Victorian Mr Hester, Esq. Instead, I and the boy Robster were in attendance at a pre-wedding thing (referred to rather inelegantly by the perpetrators as a ‘sten’ [stag/hen] party) elsewhere in London for two former disciples of this forum, Mr Cabbage and Miss Vicky, who by now are proper married (the event took place in Central Park, New York City, no less) grownups and who can therefore tell how long a piece of string is and advise authoritatively on other such matters. It was very nice indeed, and the whole shebang is a shining example of why Sinister is a Good Thing in many people’s lives. MY LOVED ONES WAIT AS I’M ATHLETICALLY LATE Some time ago, the aforementioned R & I tooled up to the appointed pub in Brighton hours after the official meeting time, having missed a nail-biting air hockey tournament on the pier due to having a very tasty lunch with my mum. The rest of the afternoon and evening were very pleasant indeed due to good company and being able to duck out of the not particularly welcoming (but traditionally British seaside) weather into cosy pubs. There was also more air hockey later, so my visceral need to swipe a puck around a table and crow unbecomingly in victory was satisfied. More Brighton later this year hopefully, if Ms Archel feels up to hosting a mini-rabble or two…? A couple of weeks after that and now a couple of weeks ago there was a lovely sunny Saturday when a group of people of this parish met up to loaf artistically in Green Park, luckily the day before the London Marathon and so we didn’t have to feel guilty about eating pork pies while other slogged around the East End until hungover the following morning. There was a cornucopia of fine comestibles, but Jim Purple Trousers truly takes the gilded biscuit for his coolbag of goodies including actual fruit and lardy profiteroles. I had a scotch egg. I trust that the burgeoning picnic season has been as good to those of you lucky enough to have participated in such an event. THERE’S USUALLY A LOONY WHO WANT TO TALK TO ME It was nice to see strangers wandering up to be included in the frankly unwise display of manly ball sports that afternoon, but I suppose that’s the inclusive camaraderie and loving rivalry of football for you. It was not, however, quite so nice to witness the gents of a nearby group of recreational Italians repeatedly using the same poor tree as a urinal in plain view of all in the park, when there were easily accessible facilities very close indeed in the entrance to the Underground station. Honestly, some people don’t know how to behave themselves. They were also practising ‘poi’, which as you should probably know is fit only for technogoths and other such shady characters. THE CERTIFIED INSANE THEY ALL SEEM TO KNOW MY NAME There was a gent on my train home last Sunday with one amputated thumb and a lot of issues, who told me he had left a rehab centre earlier in the day, and who was a long way down a bottle of whisky (who knows how many had gone before?) by the time I met him. He was quite nice, although a bit too insistent about kissing my hand when he introduced himself, and his short-term memory was all to hell from the drink. We had a discussion about connections between people and how your confidence diminishes whenever they break. I had to move seats when he started to sway and burp prior to copious vomiting. ALTHOUGH MY EYES SAY “PLEASE IGNORE ME!” If I was being a really ‘good’ person I’d have stayed with him, but to be honest I get a bit fed up of vaguely lecherous drunk men approaching me in public (although it doesn’t happen that often, I seem to get a disproportionate volume of tramp love), even if it is possible to have a perfectly civilised conversation with them. I’d rather stick with my friends or people who I know in advance will be interesting and not encroach on my personal space. This doesn’t, of course, exclude random fruitful meetings, but one has to be wary of the general public, I find. In contrast, a nice new reason to be anti-antisocial is that Mr BenApps and the lovely Rachel Fruitloop (whose saga of transatlantic love and marriage you may find in the archives if you wish) have relocated back from LA-la land to London. We performed entirely inadequately in a pub music quiz the other week, but this humiliation didn’t stop the evening in their company (and that of Ken C and Miss Marianna) being great. As Ferris Bueller would say, “I highly recommend it if you get the chance.” I LISTEN TO YOUR LIFE STORY I haven’t made official note before of how much I have been enjoying Amy Skelton’s reports from Bangladesh. My dad’s living there at the moment, and it’s grand to get another view of the country beamed into my Inbox regularly. You go, girl! Take care and don’t let the bed-bugs bite. Love, Liz :x p.s. to conclude my belatedness, I’d like to note that the Avalanches remix of ‘I’m a Cuckoo’ is a bit strange, less Thin Lizzy-like than the original, but really enjoyable nevertheless. The choir who become prominent at the end sound very chirpy. ____________________________________________________________ Yahoo! Messenger - Communicate instantly..."Ping" your friends today! Download Messenger Now http://uk.messenger.yahoo.com/download/index.html +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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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