Sinister: We're all going on a summer holiday

[Madeleine McNeil]

My dear old mum is taking me off to the seaside. Hooray! I haven't been on 
holiday since 1995, when I was 16 and too busy sulking and thinking about 
kissing Jarvis Cocker to have a good time. The last time I saw the sea was 
during an ill-advised daytrip to Skegness a few years back (for our non 
English cousins, Skegness is a hellhole of a tacky seaside resort with 
holidays camps and such), where I met a girl who was going out with a friend 
of mine. She kept telling me about all the infidelities she had committed. 
Very awkward.

Anyway, the Matriarch and I are off to Cornwall to stay in a B&B on the 
cliff top. I'm super excited as a friend of ours moved there years ago and 
we haven't seen her since. Also, going on holiday is a wonderful excuse to 
buy new books and lots of toiletries in cute, small bottles. I will get my 
mum drunk, which is very simple (a pint of Caffrey's if you spot us at the 
bar) and we'll paddle in the sea and search out second hand shops and I'll 
smile at cute surf boys (although things were easier when there were cute 
serf boys, at least they knew their place).

PeetSketchPete mentioned getting rid of collections of stuff. I am going 
through the same trauma at the moment as I have to move house soon. I've 
already sorted through my make up and got rid of loads of nail polish. Then 
I threw away some sheets covered in hot rock burns (the ex's, not mine, I 
must add). And while the ex got custody of the garlic crush and the potato 
masher when he left, I got custody off his bong, so I'm doing the 
responsible thing and giving it to a 15 year old friend of my brother. My 
flat is such a mess that whenever I move anything I get a sneezing fit from 
the dust so I'm finding it difficult to motivate myself. I did find a 
recording of Top of The Pops 1982, which was interesting. Orange Juice 
featured, ripping it up and starting again (which is what I've already done 
with this post three times). The most horrible thing about all the moving 
business is I'm such a hoarder, but I just can't seem to justify 
transporting all this junk from one place to another. Who needs a note that 
was sent in 1997? Who needs a packet of anti depressants that were 
prescribed three years ago, and not even to me? And all those photos that 
were taken in bad light, of people whose names I forget, what am I going to 
do with those?
Moving is like therapy: it forces you to go through all the mess, reassess 
it and chuck out what is weighing you down. And it's difficult to tell which 
one is more expensive.

The recent posts have been great and there's been lots of stuff that I've 
read where I've thought "oooh, that's interesting. I'll mention that", but 
I've forgotten most of it. I too have to find a job, but I'm not too 
bothered as it doesn't have to be a proper job and I do know how to pull a 
pint of Guinness and do the shamrock in the top. To all those that have 
graduated, all I can say is Well Done, and thank God I don't have to for two 
years.

I've also liked the spate of first time posters, hello to you all.

Oh, I got dragged into a shop by thin and rich friends the other day to look 
at over priced "ironic" tat. My fave was a long rack of indentical T-shirts 
that said FUCK FASHION. Mass produced anarchy: I love it. Anyway, whilst 
there I saw a T-shirt that said I *HEART* PF. So, all Pine Fox fans get down 
there quick.

Someone mentioned Simon Armitage: could anyone recommend something by him? I 
read a poem of his today and it was wonderful.

No word as yet from the Poetry Parrot, his creative juices have dried up. 
All contributions and musingss greatfully received.

Llaura Llew's post about Greek stuff made me think of The Secret History by 
Donna Tartt, which I think I'll take on holiday with me. Intellect, 
debauchery, incest, greek mythology and murder. What more could a girl ask 
for? Except a gazillion pounds (sterling) and an effective cure for eczema, 
of course.

I'm off for a work meal tonight, if making tea for the homeless and 
vulnerable on a volunteer basis two mornings a week counts as "work". Think 
of me, as I'll be thinking of you as I spill dinner down my top and laugh 
too loudly.

Love
Heiress Madeleine, Lady Lolly
xxxx

PS Big shakes to
Llaurra Llew, my kitty
Big Stu, who is still lovely
Will, who hassled until I posted
And just about everyone else.


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