Sinister: My name is Lucy and I...

[Lucy Alder]

...live in Glasgow.  Be warned Apps, Carter and all you other long
distance lovers, in the end one of you has to move and it is a right royal
pain in the arse.  You have to try to get everything you own packed up
small enough to fit into a Nissan Sunny, but you procrastinate lots and
then you run out of carrier bags and then you realise the car may be the
same colour as a tardis, but that's where the similarity ends and you just
ain't going to get it all in.  So then you chug through the night in all
kinds of weather apart from the clement sort and your sister whacks the
heating right up and makes you feel right dozy but you have to try your
hardest to stay awake because she's doing you a massive favour by driving
you up.  And then, when you finally get there, you remember that you live
on the third floor and there's no lift and you have to get yourself and
several hundred bags of stuff up there by hook or by crook (or by driving
to Milngavie to collect the boyfriend, who is ).  Blimey!

But then you sit down and nurse your cup of tea and go all grinny because
(a) you're finally there and (b) all your mates came to the pub to give
you a jolly good send off.  It was kind of like Eastenders, but nobody's
car exploded killing an eighties pop star who has BLATANTLY been messing
about with Grecian 2000 lately.  Ken came all the way from Milton Keynes,
though, and Carsmile Steve and Meg came from Oxford and loads and loads of
people came from London and I got a dart board and cake and CD as going
away pressies and it was luvverly, thank you all very much!

So here I am, in a new flat with wooden floorboards, seagrass carpet and
lots of Ikea furniture (ooh, get me!) living a mere hour from the
boyfriend's doorstep.  Blimey!  And I am going to see Lloyd Cole at the
Grand Ole Opry tomorry nighty.  Blimey again.  The Pinefox would be proud,
I hope.  The ticket says NO SUPPORT in big letters, which I presume means
that he favours classic boxers over briefs, Calvins or Y-Fronts.  Or maybe
he is getting older and fatter, but his manbreasts do not yet merit a bra.

A long time ago, I travelled to Brighton and went to a picnic, which was
one of the bestest ever and I do feel qualified to say this, seeing as I
have been going to picnics for nearly three years.  Archel, you are a
darling and I will make every effort to come to the one in the summer,
especially if I get to be voyeuristic and watch Neptune take Mark
Casarotto roughly from behind again.  May I also apologise to the three
skinny indie boys whose bed I hogged that night?  Sorry lovelies.  Your
skinny indie hipbones must have dug painfully into the floor.  I feel
contrite and will repay you in lollies.

Right, the orange notice has just popped up to say my credit is low, so I
will be off.  Mandee and Eric, I am putting together packages full of
stuff and things for you, but what with the move it's been a bit
difficult.  I am not forgetting you.

Juicy Lucy x

=====
We're going out! http://www.groups.yahoo.com/group/london-indie

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