Sinister: now you are cool

[ian]

Hello darlings,

It has been some time since I even turned on this little white box in 
the corner.  Life gallops past, and the hooves make dents in all sorts 
of unfortunate places.  Oh life, stop a while, come to tea.  I've made 
donuts.

Actually, I bought them.

Actually, I stole them from Kwiksave.  I smuggled them out down my 
knickers.  Everyone is doing it, so Stephen Hewitt tells me.  They're 
still quite edible if you brush off the hairs.  Here have one.  Have 
two.  Wasn't it the Buddha that said "Eat donuts while you may?".

Or was it Clare Grogan?  I always get those two mixed up.

Go on, its your special birthday treat from me.  8 years, eh?

I wonder if my 8th birthday was a wild ride of rock n roll, crazy 
dancing and those little sweets you used to get that looked like 
flying saucers but tasted like a squirrel had shat in your mouth.  I 
wonder if, like Rachel, I played with french fishes and threw a 
cricketer?  Probably not.  What does one play with a french fish 
anyway?  I suspect you have to live in Brighton to know.
I guess the day slipped by with me feeling slightly square, and 
unsure, and forgetting to thank those people who loved me for doing 
the best they could for me, because I was too caught up in myself. 
Not unlike those traits, many years later, that led me to buy a little 
red CD with a louche lounging lass on the front and promise of 
something dark within - who'd have known what wonderful people lived 
inside the CD?  Not just the imaginary sort of people either.  Real 
ones.  More real than the people who live under the fridge.  And more 
friendly than most of those that didn't.  Some of you lived in a world 
that looked and felt a little bit like mine.  And though that world 
doesn't feel like it did any more, in fact it changes from day to day, 
I know that you've touched it, somewhere.

So, yeah, happy 8th birthday, sinister.  Thanks for all you've done 
for me.  And you've really done a lot.  I hope we can celebrate your 
9th birthday with something long and cool, with an ice cube and a 
slice of lemon.  Failing that, a drink will do instead.

When you're 10, you'll start finding my jokes funny.  Oh yes.  That's 
what happens when you're 10.
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So - I didn't post at the start of last month.  Right at the very 
start, I wanted to talk about Rachel's wedding, the smiles of the 
beautiful couple and the friends dancing, drinking on the beach and 
sitting in the Southern sun. For just a few days after the event, I 
had a great big smile.

Then, things changed.  And I'll miss one of those friends, though I 
never got the chance to know her as well as I would have liked.  And I 
wish I'd told her how much I liked her, though part of me consoles 
myself that she knew.  I don't see my Sinister friends often enough. 
Such are the perils of living in parochial, uncivilised regions in the 
Far North (or Deep South, depending where you're coming from).  I 
realised the last time I saw Liz that it had been nearly a year.  We 
said that it was far too long, and that it wouldn't be so long next 
time.  Still, it felt like she understood me, somehow, saw through the 
bullshit and sort of liked me despite that.  Perhaps she liked the 
bullshit a bit, too.
  I was going to show you some ink polaroids, since they seem to be 
the new old thing, but you'll have some of your own I'm sure.  Mine 
are all smeared with beer and uncertainty.  The hand that took them is 
steadier, but the mind still wibbles from time to time.

If I did pick one, it would be the group of us dancing to S Club 7, 
enjoying the fact that we all secretly liked the song rather a lot - I 
think it was Don't Stop Movin', though I remember it as Reach For The 
Stars.  The promises in that are prettier, if harder to believe.  I 
catch her eye, and she raises her eyebrow.  I laugh, and things seem 
wonderful, for that moment.  Rachel and Matt just got married.  I'm so 
happy for them, and sort of happy for us, being here, getting to share 
it with them.

I could say a lot more in that vein, but you have your own memories 
and I'm not sure that you need many more of mine.  I've drafted a few 
mails lately but like a few others, I suspect, I feel a bit clumsy 
with what I've written, and worried of causing more sadness.  I hope 
that hasn't happened but that's why it was short, and it took a while, 
and its hidden under talk of squirrels and baked goods.

I'll come back to right now, then.  So, yeah, happy birthday little 
one - or as happy as you can be.  Thanks for the friends you brought 
me.  I can hardly believe you're 2000 feet tall.  No longer a boy with 
naivety, but perhaps still believing that type can succeed.  Because 
some days the implausible promises are the best, and we all have to 
believe in something.  Maybe the Buddha said that.  Maybe he didn't.

Buddhered if I know.

Remember, when you're 10, that sort of thing will make you laugh.  Oh 
yes.

Love and birthday kisses.

Uncle Ian.

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