Hello ladies.

  Looking forward to piqueniqueing in about 24 hours.  Woohoo!  And, as some of 
you will remember, I bake exceedingly good cakes.  Going to have to lug a bottle
of wine around London beforehand for a whie, though, so I guess red will have to
do.  Turns your tongue black, you know.

  You know what?  I actually sat here and calmed down before writing anything.
Sterling advice from Honey.  This is probably a good reason for being on a
mailing list: in a pub-argument session, I'd normally give the surrounds a good
taste of Daplyn invective.
  To be honest, over the last half an hour while I've been reading the backlog
of sinister-digests that's built up over the couple of days this week when I've 
been too bleedin' busy to do anything other thatn run around like a headless chicken, 
eat and sleep, I've frequently been yelling "OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE" silently inside 
the warm squishiness of my brain.  Particularly in relation to Mr. San Angel.  
But I'm not going to be nasty to anyone or about anything, because I'm a nice 
girl. 
  But I'd like to register an objection to people posting things which they know 
will royally piss off any number of people out of the seething masses which 
we know as Sinister these days, but do it anyway.  Steven Wells autocloning isn't 
pretty.  Think of Sir Cliff.  I know _I_ frequently do.  Heh.  
 
  The delightful Chris_t_opher wafted forth thusly

> Beautiful music with 'interesting' lyrics [NB. B+S lyrics aren't
> just 'interesting, they're 'likeable'!!] is far better than any lyrically
> revolutionary song where music takes the back-seat. I know a lot of you
> disagree but i only use music for entertainment. If i wanted to learn
> something useful, I'd read a book.

  Absolutmont.  As a fount of simply spanking and sometimes heartbreaking music,
B&S are tops.  They may personally be out spraying the walls (tm. the Grand High
Struan) but why should they be obliged to reflect that in the way they pursue 
their commercial livelihoods?  I have had many a thought provoked by music and 
the idle ramblings of musicians, but I'm not looking to it for a grand schematic 
for living my life or how I should be thinking politically.  Screw the NME.

  There are some lovely ducks quacking around my college environs at the moment,
seeing as we've got a wee river flowing placidly past the edge of the lawn.  Not
to mention swans, but they're scary and evil (just try punting past one which
has a brood of cygnets) and belong to the Queen.  Sometimes our ducks experiment
with their sexuality, such as two lady ducks waddling around together.  They
don't hold hands because they don't have hands, and I'm not shocked anyway, 
because I respect their right to discover themselves as canids of the new millennium.

I feel quite faint from all the effort.  I'd best get to doing some work.  I've
got to design a fricking Christmas card for the Vice Chancellor of the universty
to send to the Queen and the Sultan of Brunei and that.  Lucky me.

  Love,
    Liz :x
                                                 upwardly mobile: 0771 3014742
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