Sinister: house of lords, sweetie!

[alix campbell]

hello petit singes

you know that feeling when you're going to move house, and even though its 
ages away yet you want to start packing? i feel like that. i want to put 
everything into boxes, then unpack them all again. and then repack. you have 
to pack over and over, to make sure that everything's packed properly. only, 
there's sod all point in packing when you're not moving for a month. thats 
why i write email, to prevent me packing everything up and making me live 
out of boxes for the next few weeks.

often when i'm having a conversation in a crowded room i find that either 
myself or the people i'm talking to will pick up something someone nearby 
uninvolved is saying and introduce it as a topic. using this kind of 
transmission, do you think an issue has been passed along for miles and 
miles? i'd like to be able to track the progress of a rumour, and see how it 
gets around. i might make up a story which i can recognise, tell it to a 
bunch of people, then see how long it is before i get told it myself. i 
can't think of any stories though. i once told my mum the one about scottish 
ice cream vans, and she bought it. not many people know the one about the 
scottish ice cream vans. mainly because i made it up.

pauline. l. shivers wrote some stuff, and i enjoyed that. do write some 
more.

last friday i came home from work and had a bath, intending to have a nice 
early night so i would make it into work next day, i was apprehended by our 
terribly shrill doorbell. 'what foul fiend is this, lurking at my casement?' 
i wondered, as if my brain had suddenly been hijacked by the spirit of Mary 
Shelley. it was ok however; it was only JuicyLucy, not some hideous wretch. 
i invited her up and offered her a brandy snap. after at least 10 minutes of 
  vicious, near fatal coercion she convinced me to Go Out that night. later 
i found myself listening to Little Geddes spinning discs and inspecting 
Isobel's diminished rear. then myself trousers and dastoor commandeered a 
taxi cab and embarked on a tour of the all night garages of Stoke Newington. 
Such merriment and versatility of mind was almost too much for the poor 
cabbie. by this point i'd decided that should i go to sleep, i would be very 
unlikely to get up in time for work. we were entertained chez dastoor for a 
few hours, with cheese and crackers, and trousers snoring. then we walked 
home, then i went into work. my folly became apparent around 9am, 2 hours 
into my shift, when i realised that i couldn't walk straight, talk 
coherently or focus on anything. 10.30 found me in the canteen, staring into 
a cup of coffee which didnt look too great. still, at 16p a go, what did i 
expect? came home at 1pm, and fell asleep for hours.

many happy returns to mr. steadymike.

now, what else did i want to say? i've just made a tape for my friend the 
goth with appendicitis abigail. i wonder what she'll think. i personally 
think she'll love the go betweens. really. if she doesn't i'll punch her in 
the stomach and say 'now which do you like most, the go betweens or your 
stitches bursting?' i think she'll see things my way eventually. unless she 
faints.

byebye
lixi


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