7 August, 1992
How you going? I’m at work and I’m hung-over as hell and I just can’t face having to speak to business knobs’ secretaries with all the charisma of lobotomized Alsatians, so I thought I’d write a long overdue letter to my Sis.
Watcha been doin’? I went out last night with Donovan (remember him? the tall one with all the hair) and Leah my girlfriend of 4 months, (5 on the 2nd of September) to the Sarah Sands Hotel and got hideously pissed on the cheap window cleaner they call vodka. Anyway, boogied until about 3am, stumbled into a taxi and went back to Leah’s place in Brunswick. You’d like Leah, she’s about your height (snigger).
Anyway, so here I sit, still half pissed with three potato cakes repeating on my like episodes of MASH, thinking that I can’t wait till I grow out of this shit.
Thank you, thank you for all the groovey gifts – especially the little bug – that’s fucking ace! I love it. Thanks for all the Viz’s too, it gives me something to read on the trains in the morning, It sure beats greasing off that horrible woman who wears the fur coat every day. And of course the Dime bars were nothing short of orgasmic.
Winky’s well, but he’s taken to pissing right at the front door and barking to be let in. Two most endearing little habits.
Well I’d better go before I get busted by the Cappo Bastard Overlords.
PS – see you in Feb/March
11 August 1992
The reason you haven’t got this letter yet is because the computers have been down and I haven’t been able to print. I tried to print it the day I wrote it and it didn’t go through, but waited in queue inside the printer, just ready to spew out at the most occupationally lethal moment. I had to get Jenny (co-worker) to cancel it out for me. Nail biting stuff indeed, I spent about two and a half days dithering between my office and the print-room, convinced it was going to pop out and fart in the face of my Manager.