Sinister: a la plage

[Rachel Playforth]

So, Saturday was I suppose the first official picnic of the Sinister
year, although I'm not sure we can really lay claim to the title as
there was no al fresco boozing, no Pringles and no football.  But
somehow pubs, chips and slot machines seemed more appropriate given the
pouring rain and the fact that it was dark by 5pm.

In attendance: muggins, Mark C, Marianna M, Ken C, Liz D, Rob B, Robin S
and Lucy E.  The latter proved her teacher credentials admirably by
testing our spelling and setting us tough challenges such as 'Margaret
Thatcher, Ann Widdicombe, Edwina Currie: marry one, shag one, push one
off a cliff. CHOOSE.' It was literally hours of fun.

Some of the other hours were filled with DDR, air hockey, pretending to
be on skis, and Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.  Never let it be said
that Sinister kids just sit around limply, eating Haribo and discussing
Isobel's hair.  We were WHIRLWINDS of activity.  I have a new-found
appreciation for Ken's DDR skeez, having now found out just how
difficult it is (or rather, how little sense of natural rhythm I have).

The pier had mostly recovered from its brush with fire.  The purveyors
of 'pork on chips' were certainly still alive and well, as were the DJs,
locked in their little booth and forced to play Mousse T and Simply Red
all afternoon.  Brighton has class you see.

In the pub everyone got a chance to read local listings magazines and
find out just how freakish Brighton is; we also discussed absent friends
and non-league football and looked at girls' legs.

Later on I bundled six people into my tiny front room with two
mattresses and one duvet and callously left them to kick each other and
shiver all night long.  We did have a feast of chilli puffs, gorgeous
bread, chocolate biscuits and tea first though.  So I AM a good hostess,
honest.  (Even if the only bit actually provided by me was the tea...) 
I then went to bed as the strains of Ken's sperm CD (off the front of
the Independent, don't ask...) faded away.

In the morning the Sinister stench was negligible!  I think the secret
is: don't continue to drink alcohol on return to flat, also don't have
anyone in the flat who smokes or vomits.  Hurrah.  There was a bit of a
greenhouse effect once the sun came out though, so we headed off in
search of lard.  Not before having an Actual Belle & Sebastian
Conversation though! (NB. if anyone can provide any examples of 'zeugma'
in B&S lyrics or otherwise, we'd be grateful.)  No Buddies (aka Gay
Lard) this time, but we discovered Naff Caff (Goth Lard) instead, where
we enjoyed mounds of fried potatoes and a pierced waitress.  Then there
was just time for another quick dally by the seaside.  My attempt to
take everyone's photo next to the random doughnut sculpture failed (it
was the last day of National Doughnut Week!) but fun was had anyway. 
The collapsed West Pier looked noble and sad in the distance, while we
skipped stones and tried to hide from the cruel brightness of the sun. 
Unfortunately, even playing chicken with the sea on a steep incline
didn't make Mark fall in.

All the excitement combined with an enormous Sunday roast meant that I
fell asleep at 6pm and missed most of the evening, but it was worth it.
I hope all your weekends were as good.  

love Archel xxx

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