Sinister: Nonchalant and Winsome

[Madeleine McNeil]

Madames, Monsieurs and tout les autres,

So, I finally got my first pair of flares and I do indeed feel TWEE AS FUCK. 
My flappy trousers legs flop into puddles and need to be dried on the 
radiator at the end of the day, and I am very close to doing myself a 
mischief on the stairs. I keep getting my toes caught in the tremendous 
amount of hem.

The missus says I look like a student now, but what she doesn't realise is 
that students don't look like students anymore, students now look like 
twentysomething discerning consumers, and twentysomething consumers look 
like it's still 1992 and why waste your money on new threads when you can 
get a pint of snakebite and black* at the union for a quid? Oh, born into 
the wrong era, me.

I feel odd and bubbly, having just faffed about in the archives and read a 
HILARIOUS post from Lucy Alder from a few years back. I'm sitting in the 
Serious Study room at univeristy and everyone else is being Serious and 
Studious and I am laughing about what the four marys would have got up to if 
Bunty had not been called Bunty, but rather somthing else. I'm afraid I 
cannot say the C word. Lord knows why, as I'm so fuckin foul mouthed about 
everything else, but there's something about words for *snigger* female 
genitalia that brings out the prude in me. I blush and stutter and all the 
rest. Read Lucy's old post as she's better at reclaiming the C word than 
I'll ever be:

http://www.missprint.org/sinister/mhonarc/199911/msg00278.html


I hope another reason for my odd chirpiness is the GINSENG that I have just 
taken. Manchurian, no less. Better than Mancunian, I suppose. I'm fed up of 
needing several cups of coffee before I can get out of the house. I want 
ENERGY and BOUNCE and DRIVE and all that stuff. I want to frolic and tumble 
and play games and fall over my flappy flares. It's time for a brand new me.

Is anyone going to this after show malarkey thing in Manchester? I've got 
tix, but I can't decide. I told a friend of mine that I might go and she got 
all excited and said "Oh! You can meet the band!" and I told her that I 
didn't want to really, as I'd feel daft and stuff, but she would not believe 
me! What's that about, eh? She kept saying "are you telling me that if you 
had these chance to meet your fave band you wouldn't?" and I kept saying 
yes, then she kept saying "we'll see" in that annoying way, implying she 
knows me better than I know myself. THEN she told me that I'll end up being 
a university lecturer and I said I didn't want to and she said "we'll see". 
Hmmm. I shall have to see about kicking her arse, I think.

Hooray for our Amykins moving to a commune. Good on you, spice girl. Back to 
nature and all that. I'd live in a commune if it was rilly massive and 
shaped like a stately home and was in fact a stately home and all my other 
communal buddies were as cynical and uptight as me and just stayed in their 
rooms alphabetising books and occasionally emerging to wander to the shops 
to buy cheese and leopard print head scarves and cigarettes and wine. A 
vision of heaven indeed.

Right, I'm off for my daily dose of stalking. There's a handsome boy whose 
lecture is due to finish right about NOW and if he should find me 
nonchalantly smoking a cigarette and staring winsomely into space, he might 
just say hello. Hooray for teenage crushes.

Amour

Madeleine

*For those of you lucky enough not to know, Snakebite and black is a half 
cider/half lager mixture with blackcurrant cordial. Yeah, I know. Rank, 
isn't it?



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