Sinister: What a way to make a living....

[Madeleine McNeil]

Spurred into action by the gentle nudgings of Sir David and the Llew, I 
return. There are explanations for my protracted absence, but they're boring 
and self-indulgent and reflect badly on me, so I shan't go into it here. 
Suffice to say, I finished my degree and have started real grown-up work of 
the full-time nine-to-five variety. And I have limited internet access at 
work and a full office of women who, though kindly, would not appreciate me 
emailing you legion of bedsit saddos when I should be working.

Work is an interesting affair, though no more interesting than it is 
tiresome and dull, sadly. It's not that I actively dislike it, it's more 
that I find it so annoying because it prevents me from doing what I really 
want to do. Don't people realise how much lying down and reading I could be 
doing if it weren't for all those pesky phone calls and enquiries? How can 
they not see how much they're holding me back from my life? Life has now 
become something that I fit in in the evenings if I'm not too weary, or do 
at the weekends if I'm not too hungover. And work is also turning me into 
one of those people who moans about work all the time, and I hate that....

Romance appears to be in the Sinister air, and big congratulations are 
shouted out to the other side of the world to Mrs and Mr Julie and David 
Bulk. Getting married looks like a right laugh. I do hope their wedding will 
be like the one I attended the other weekend. Actually, I didn't attend the 
wedding because my girl reckoned it would be dull, so we jetted up to the 
North East for the reception. The bride looked wonderful, just as she 
should. She spend the evening flinging her frock around, dancing to Nutbush 
City Limits by Tina Turner, while the groom kept sloping off for sneaky 
cigarettes where his Mam and Dad couldn't see him. Surely, if you've got a 
three year old child and you've just got hitched, isn't it time that your 
folks know you smoke? They sure as hell know you had pre-marital sex.

I have missed many Sinister activities in the past year or so, and now I 
have to miss the next one. Dash it all. I have promised my mate Scottish Stu 
that I'll go to his party on Saturday, so I can't come down to London to 
twist the night away at Tigermilking. Once, Scottish Stu got angry and hit 
someone so hard he broke his own finger. He's not the kind of chap I like to 
turn down. Also, I've heard that at his last party there was a guest who got 
so drunk he wet his pants. I hate this particular man with the fire of a 
thousand suns, so must attend in the hopes that I can see the slack-jawed 
fucker lying in a pool of his own urine. I'm sure you all understand.

Another thing that I am sad about is the fact that I shan't have the chance 
to go on one of my bizarre caravanning holidays this year. Regular readers 
may remember my jaunts in both Buxton and Boston. The high points of these 
trips were, respectively, eating hummous in the park, and a day trip to 
Skegness. Now that I'm a wage slave, I am far too busy swanning around to 
meetings, sometimes travelling as far as Coalville (smallest gene pool in 
Britain apparently. Oh man, does it show....) and Market Harborough, I can't 
take off to the wilds of anywhere that's within a two hour drive. Instead, 
I'm settling for a week in North Wales. It's female, three-generational fun! 
My mother, sister and grandma and I are taking off, so that we can have 
arguments in a new environment.

Best New Bossy Susan quote: "Now you, our Mads, look like Drew Barrymore if 
she'd had reverse lipsuction. You know, with the fat put in...?

Smoochey wet kisses to all of you,

Madeleine

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