Sinister: Bridges thronging with these ribboned souls; one day they won't remember you...

[Alasdair Cook]

So that was that. 2000. Shiraz Cabernet Sauvignon. Mulberries. A good year, 
in other words. And this is something else, a new century. But before we 
look ahead, it's time for reflection. Unless you happen to be a vampire, of 
course. Garlic! Ha ha ha, don't worry.

So what did we see? Well, in January we danced the night away and slowed the 
clock down like whirling dervishes, or superman. With tiger ears. In April 
we dreamed of England, then realised we were there, then thought we might 
just be in Poland, and ended up on the beach like Neil, like Kirsty's boy. 
We gained some heroes and some enemies, both of which were a lot of fun. You 
can read about it somewhere. Kevan, where art thou?

In May we were troubled, but not so much that we couldn't dance. Jane gave 
us a semi-religious experience, tears at Bowlie, before bedtime. I'm 
thinking of 126. Or was it 630? Whatever. The week never ends round here. We 
were asked some silly questions, we got some free records, always a bonus, 
and some other things we hadn't bargained for. Everything swathed in 
scarlet. Perfect.

The two greatest bands of the last two decades both came back to excite us, 
but the album of the year should have been the album of another year. Never 
mind, better late than never for the seaside hopefuls; Feargal Sharkey was 
right, it seems. Future generations can read the faded lettering on John 
Peel's gravestone.

The rest of the year was spent in the pleasant company of old and new 
friends, through watermelon weather and lilac wrapping, flying fretting 
fingers and lunacy on the dancefloor. Booty!

On the eve of a new millenium we toasted Kirsty (it semed only fitting) and 
almost heard a rendition of one of her sweetest moments drifting over the 
river. One to look out for in the new age, we reckon.

And when we woke up, we discovered that nothing had really changed at all, 
and we were still in love. With whatever. With most things. She put her 
fears to one side and took the early flight. He went the other way to chase 
a dream. He might have to wake up soon, though. Maybe he can pull a Rip Van 
Winkle and get away with it for a bit longer. Soon it'll be back to the 
grind for you though, boy. Don't think about the future, it doesn't exist.

JuicyLucy talked about bras. Lisa Morrison talked about the abscence of 
bras. This is all too much for a boy to take. Stop it, please, or I'll have 
to call the police. Still, I've written a poem for the occassion.

No support, bare chest
She'll lift her top at your behest
Still, she's making me depressed
Saying "Is that really the best
you have to offer?".

Alasdair2001Cook xx


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