Sinister: snitching, bitching and fancying stiching

[Graham MacArthur]

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




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