Sinister: Mathematics and Laundry

[Madeleine McNeil]

Darlings,

Shouts out to The Birmingham Massive! Greetings to Carl and grumblings to 
Naughty Ian (I'm in the Archel crew, I think. A NUN in a CUPBOARD?). The 
Loved One and I spent a wonderful day in Birmingham yesterday, doing loads 
of cultural shit (and getting told off for playing with the exhibits. The 
Loved One *hearts* interactivityness. Or something. Apparently art is not a 
toy, it's Art). We also sneaked into the Sea Life centre without paying - 
shushhhh! But £8.50 is a bit steep for gawping at some manta rays and jelly 
fish - and watched the otters getting fed and listened to squalling 
children. I wanted one of the disturbed sharks to bite the hand off some 
small brat who kept putting his hand in the water. Honestly. I ask you. Etc.

Vilkas said "Anyone know anything about centimeters?" which is one of the 
best questions I've ever been asked, cos I know LOADS about them. They're 
quite small, but not as small as a millimeter (10 of them make one 
centimeter), so in some ways they're quite big, but not as big as a meter 
(there's a whole 100 centimeters in one of them!). They're dead useful for 
knowing how big things are and stuff. Or something.

I appear on examination to know less about centimeters than I thought.

All this collective list nostalgising is much fun. Stevie's post was simply 
wonderful, and I fished out a few old ink polaroids of my own.

Look! This was taken in February. Paul Field and Stacey and Archel and I are 
in Brighton, walking from the station to the beach, where a rowdy crowd (and 
Liz's cakes) await us. My hair is obscuring my face, due to a strong wind, 
and there are tears in my eyes as I see the sea for the first time in years. 
Stacey is bouncing a little in her excitement and Paul is staring off into 
the distance.

Here's another one - it's a bit smoky, like, but if you look closely you'll 
see that I'm in a basement club in London. It's How Does It Feel To Be 
Loved. Behind me, on the dance floor, shaking their stuff to prime Northern 
Soul, you can make out Marianna and Greg and Ken and Mr and Mrs Carmile. 
Sarah GS's elegant foot is poking out from behind a pillar. I'm being hugged 
by Mark Casarole, and if you look closely, there's a slight blush on my 
face. Mark will not be reminded of why until lunch the next day.

And here's yet one more. The sun is shining, and I'm standing in my back 
garden, pegging my freshly laundered RED bucket pants on the line, ready for 
their special trip to London in a week or so.

My pants and I will see you there.

Regards,

Madeleine




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