Sinister: In My Dreams

[Madeleine McNeil]

Greetings, Sinister Kids.

My, hasn't it been busy of late? Goodness knows what those naughty boys and 
girls in #sinister have been cooking up.

Pigz and Archel were talking about undies (one of the most used sentences 
ever, I think). And hooray for patterned tights. I had a pair once, but I 
covered them in fag burns, as I seem to do with every pair of tights I own. 
Some girls can pull this off in a kind of "Oh, goodness me! I'm so ditzy yet 
cute and the fact that my clothes are all moth eaten and fag burnt only 
serves to enhance how beautiful I am" way. I only manage a "Jesus, you're 
tights have got holes in them. Are you going out like that?"

And yes, I am enigmatic when it comes to underwear. Except that time when I 
showed my red pants at Red Knicker Day to prove I wasn't cheating. Oh, and 
that time when I was at a party and my skirt slid down to reveal my undies. 
Oh, and that time yesterday when I'd been wandering around at work for about 
an hour before I realised my zip was undone. Except for all those times, and 
doubtless many others, my pants are a state secret.

Recently, I have been behaving in a very grown up way (except Saturday 
night, but that doesn't count, surely?), what with studying and 
bookshopgirlism and a Committed Grown Up Relationship.

Last night I went to visit my girl in her new flat. It's really nice if you 
like lying in the dark (no lamp in bedroom) or sitting on the floor (no 
sofa). She had some plan to hang something on the door and I was forced, in 
my most Joyce Grenville voice to say "Yes, dear, and last time you hand an 
idea like that, the door fell on your head". I found this far more amusing 
than I should have. Then I remembered watching The Empire Strikes Back on 
Tuesday and asking her "So, is the Emperor in charge of Darth Vader then?" 
and she replied "Yeah, he's like Darth's line manager".

So, I got the giggles and was exciled to the fire escape. Good thing I was 
dressed in my towelling robe and turban, and had remembered my little 
guitar. After a few rousing verses of 'Moon River', I lit a cigarette and 
looked out over the glorious city scape of Leicester. My mind wondered. And 
wandered. And as I drifted off into my Audrey Hepburn induced reverie, I 
felt a burning sensation on my knee. I looked down. Holy fuck! I've set fire 
to my bath robe!

I leapt up, cursing, dropping cigarette and ash and glowing embers. I heard 
a voice,

"Well, you're a complete fuckwit, aren't you?"
"What? Eh?" I looked around, trying to find the source of the voice, "Who 
said that?"
"Me, you dippy tart".

And the pain in the arse that in the poetry parrot came to rest on the 
railings beside me.

"You! But... you were here last year and I sent you away. I sent you to 
Australia to get rid of you!"
"Yeah, and now I'm back. I've been watching you for a while. Audrey Hepburn 
my arse. You look more like Alma Hippo. And why are you hardly dressed, with 
wet hair, out on a night like this? You'll catch your death!"
"But WHY are you back?"
"Oh, you must always ask questions, mustn't you? I went to see Stout Robin 
and the fucker buried me!"
"Goodness", I replied "But he always seemed like such a nice boy"
"Yeah... but it's all a facade. He's a parrot-slaying freak, if you ask 
me.... And then I wanted to eat his brains, but he wouldnt let me. Yes, 
selfish, I know. So he sent me here. Said I should eat your brains instead"

The parrot peered into my ear, pecking at my hair and pulling it, just to 
upset me. He squawked. Very loudly.

"Fuck me! Not only is that Stout a fiend to parrots everywhere, he's also a 
liar! Your brains are full of red shoes and gin. Ooh, and you're thinking 
about smooching..."
"Get out of there!"

I swiped the little fucker but he only squawked his laughter and perched 
back on the railing.

Le harrumph. Who does he think he is? But now I've got him here, maybe he 
can be of some use.

"So, parrot, you old bastard. I'm taking a course on poetry at uni. What do 
you think of the aesthetic/didactic argument? Is the purpose of poetry 
really to teach and delight like what Sidney said?"

"Shut the fuck up and find me some whiskey"

So, off I went in to the kitchen. And I thought of this:

In My Dreams
by Stevie Smith

In my dreams I am always saying goodbye and riding away,
Whither and why I know not nor do I care.
And the parting is sweet and the parting over is sweeter,
And sweetest of all is the night and the rushing air.

In my dreams they are always waving their hands and saying goodbye,
And they give me the stirrup cup and I smile as I drink,
I am glad the journey is set, I am glad I am going,
I am glad, I am glad, that my friends don't know what I think.

I placed the bottle of whisky on the fire escape and slammed the door. I 
could hear the parrot squawking and fussing outside the door.

"You can't stay here!" I shouted "Go and visit Liz Daplyn. She's nicer than 
me. Don't eat her brains, but if you play your cards right, she might rustle 
you up some lemon cake"

And with that, the most offensive parrot in the world... EVER (TM) vanished 
into the night.

Madeleine xxx



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