Sinister: We are, we are, we are the Mods

[Madeleine McNeil]

I went out on Saturday night. I had a real cliche of a cold, all streaming 
eyes and red nose and sniffles and general misery. I sat next to a very very 
dull sci-fi fan at a Chinese restaurant. Anything produced without the 
involvement of William Shatner was pronouced 'crap'. I blew my nose on the 
Christmas napkins (a bit early, I think, but then Christmas does seem to get 
earlier every year, no?).

It was a friend's birthday, she insisted on doing karaoke. I hate karaoke. 
It makes me squirm inside. My friend stood in front of the machine, singing 
occasionally, having a chat with her mates occasionally. I sniffled.

Sexy Susan arrived in a cloud of expensive perfume and terrifying cleavage. 
She bought me a whisky, patted my shoulder, and told me to go dancing. I 
always do what Sexy Susan tells me to, so off I went.

We went to a terrific club called Brighton Beach, mod/indie/hipster heaven. 
Aren't mod boys ace? I watched a group of them in their handsome suits and 
stramge little hair-dos dancing away and strutting their stuff. They're 
so... victorious, like a winning football team. And every sone that comes 
on, they look at each other and raise their fists in the air, "They're 
playing OUR song!" Of course they are, you silly boys, the flyer for the 
club has a picture of The Jam on the front! They look so proud and cocky. 
Bless 'em. It must be nice to be so pleased with life. It must be nice to 
have a gang to dance with and to swap ties with. Oh, and they looked so 
young! Sixteen years old and fresh faced. Yes, I was tempted to put one in 
my pocket. My own personal mod. I could stand him on the shelf and ask him 
style tips.

I got rather drunk, and returned home with a bag of damp, snot-sodden 
tissues on my back. I went into #sinister for a wee chat, so I smoked and 
listened to TWATTYBUS and blathered on about nothing. After a while, I 
looked round my room. YIKES! There's a girl in my room! The loved one had 
snuck back to my house and was sitting on my bed. And had been for twenty 
minutes! How odd and rather spooky. She giggled at me, thought I was mad as 
a bucket. I signed off.

I will soon have a Sinister visitor. Stacey Dahling is coming to play for a 
bit. I will take her for walks by the canal and out for noodles and then to 
see 'Storytelling' at my local independant arts venue. It's be nice to have 
someone new to talk to. I wonder if she knows what she's letting herself in 
for....

I got 70% on Laura Llew's friendship test. What does this mean? I'm not good 
enough to read to her, but I'm good enough to bind her books?

I, too, await the next installment of Mark Casarotto's domestic chores saga 
with anticipation. When he runs out of floors to scrub, there's plenty here.

Love
Madeleine
xxx


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