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31 October 1999 "What's that smell?" I said to Stuart as we walked to the cash machine for drink vouchers. "Decaying leaves," he answered. It's Halloween. It's Greenwich Mean Time. It's two months from my birthday. It could be the start of Winter Depression. We shall see.
It's been a very good year, 99. Progress, happiness and contentment, after the shambles of 98. However, I'm sure there'll be ample time for reminiscing later, as the millennium draws to its close. This early morning the clocks went back an hour, hopefully for the last time ever. It was mooted some years ago that it would be a much better idea to have British Summer Time all year round, but then someone had the bright idea that seeing as the whole world's eyes will be on Greenwich at 23.59 on December 31, it would be a bit bonkers for us not to be on GMT. At least for this winter. Oh, the Americans have tried to get in on the act with something called Universal Standard Time (thinking big there, dudes - eh?) but it'll never catch on. GMT is as universal as Shakespeare and the Queen. They all just go on for ever.
We have new neighbours. The first I knew of it was when I heard the unmistakeable sounds of human copulation. There are squeaky screechy noises a woman makes only at times like that, and - even in our twilight - we do still remember them. Oh yes! magnificat has brought a twinkle to more than one young lady's eye! Don't believe everything you hear!! However, that was then - this is now. Irritated, I slammed on the TV to a music
channel, loud, to let them know they'd been overheard. After a suitable period for mutual
detumescence, I switched it off again, equally as suddenly, daring them to recommence. But
they didn't.
You bitter twisted old thing, someone said to me, but I disagree. Lovemaking is fine, but only for those involved - unless they're selling tickets, of course. And frankly my dear, one just wouldn't buy such a ticket these days. No interest. All shagged out. Then last night they held a house-warming party, to which one wasn't invited. Well, hardly surprising, as so far we've only communicated with fucking noises and Top of The Pops. Purely out of interest - not nosiness, you understand - I listened for a while at the wall. It was amazing. Middle class chit-chat... loud but not threatening - the sort you get on films when they're showing party scenes. Now maybe I've lived in Scotland for too long, but for me the word party is synonymous with loud music (for shouting over), drink (for vomiting later), drugs (for peace and harmony), fighting and bloodshed. Quite amazing. Maybe a touch of class has been brought to the block after all these years. We'll keep an ear open and report on future developments.
It's been a very good year for this website also. Starting in January, we've kept up a consistent presence, the highlight of which was the series of emails from the gifted writer and film-maker Jon Ronson. I know we haven't mentioned this earlier, but trust me, fans, it did happen. However, SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) is always around, and this is just to warn readers that we might soon stop for a while. With the clock change today, this might indeed be the last one of 1999, which is why I'm treating it a bit seriously. But never fear - we will be back in 2000, God willing of course. Before function disappears altogether, I really must stock up on light bulbs and some white paint. I've decided to try white walls in my living room this year. Last autumn I tried washing them, but got depressed half way through, so they're a rather ghastly half clean, half dirty design at the moment. And, for those really attentive readers, you'll remember that in February I picked up half the mess off the floor. Well - needless to say, the other half remains where it was, and also last December's letters remain unopened. I promised myself I'd open them in June, when it's relatively safe, but still didn't pluck up sufficient courage. Better stop there now, before I write myself into this year's decline. Best wishes, and thanks for reading...
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Copyright magnificat 1997 - 2001 |
