Sinister: Hyphenating leads to bloody murder in provinical town bookshop

[Madeleine McNeil]

My loves,

Oh, loads of people said loads of stuff and it were dead interesting and 
thought-provoking and all that. So, good for them.

I could have begun with "I haven't posted for ages...." and it would be 
true, because really I haven't. I've been doing all sorts of important, 
dull, inconsequential nonsense that isn't really like living, but living 
makes it necessary - paying bills, visiting parents, doing laundry and 
cleaning out the kitchen bin (I recall that Love God Casarotto once managed 
to fashion a post about cleaning out his kitchen bin. He's clearly more 
talented than I).

There's been so many things that I have read and meant to comment on, like 
Linda's "Fox in the snow"/Virgina Woolf type thing (Oh, and by the way, if 
you had to sleep with either Virginia Woolf of Sylvia Plath, which one would 
you pick and why? Answers on an email to the non-list address, please, as we 
don't want 1600 people knowing that you find Sylvia's rampant outdoorsy 
American blondness more attractive than Virginia's stay-in-doors, repressed 
Englishness, do we?), all of Marianna's wonderful posts, Archel's 
almost-happening picnic, Paul Field's search for a housemate - I can 
recommend the flat. Very nice, with a roof terrace and a real coffee maker. 
No Nescafe for this boy - and so many other things.

As you can tell by the above paragraph, I am currently very into 
hyphenating. This is mostly because of the DragonLady at work (those who 
read my blog know of her, those who don't will never know as, like G, I have 
my pride and refuse to link) who last week repremanded me for "hyphenating a 
word in the order book - it makes it very difficult to read, you know". So I 
killed her with a hardback book and then scattered pieces from the original 
Star Wars puzzle (1979, only one piece missing) all over her battered and 
bloody frame. And here's me thinking that bookshopgirlism is all listening 
to Belle and Sebastian, knitting cardies and pointing people in the 
direction of the James Joyce paperbacks.

I took a small holiday last week with the Loved One, which involved cycling 
for hours around cabbage fields and going to Skegness, which was so tacky it 
nearly burnt my retinas. Bless all of you who live in Lincolnshire. It made 
me yearn for the bright lights big city of Leicester. But I got tanned and 
healthy, so much so that my mother was speechless on my return. Fear not, I 
shall return to the pale and pasty look - I'd like to say which year it had 
last been in fashion, but fear that my look never has, and never will, be 
all the rage on the Paris catwalks - very soon.

So, RED KNICKER day is upon us. Hooray. Red pants currently in the wash, but 
will arrive in London on the 25th, hopefully with me in them, for dignified 
drunkeness. Is that a tautology or an oxymoron? I can never remember the 
difference.

Huge props to Asm Walton, who not only burnt the last two Peel sessions onto 
a CD for me, but seemed to manage it all in one day. Thank you Sam, the gods 
are now smiling upon you.

(Keep Feeling) Fascination

Maddie Minx  xxxxx



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