Before Hipsters were Hipsters.

Found amongst J’s correspondence. He has typed it on his typewriter.  I’m not sure if it is a Diary entry or if it was meant to be a letter, to me or someone else.  I know I never received it.  Think this may belong in the UNSENT file.   What:  Paige’s Party When:  Friday, 18 October 1996 Who was there:  Me, Tariq, Simon, Jeremy, Lisa, Darren, … Continue reading Before Hipsters were Hipsters.

Maybe I’ll just skip the University course and make myself homeless now.

Wednesday, 5 June 1996  8:35am Hey S, Had that lunch with our Father yesterday.  Depressing affair, all told.  Basically, these ideas of going back to Uni are shot, they really are.  It’s the people I work with, they’re always going on and on and on about how crap it is here, so I guess I’m conditioned to think that.  Then they all go on about … Continue reading Maybe I’ll just skip the University course and make myself homeless now.

It’s a coffee coup.

Thursday, 16 May 1996  8:30am I switched camps this morning Sis.  I overcame my great fear, and went over to the other side.  You know what I’m talking about.  I bought my cappuccino at Le Croissant Connection, instead of Pomegranites (sic).  I thought to myself ‘Dammit J, yesterday’s excuse for a cappuccino had no fluff on it at all’.  No fluff, nix fluffae, as the … Continue reading It’s a coffee coup.

The peculiarities of our troublesome Father.

Tuesday, 14 May 1996  8:30am Went to the “Empress of India” in Carlton.  I was meeting Scottish Lisa from work and a few other people, all of whom I’d met before (bar one).  There were seven of us, we sat around just drinking and gossiping.  I must be getting old S, I spent a Saturday night ‘just chatting with friends’ (sounds like a coffee commercial) … Continue reading The peculiarities of our troublesome Father.

Men with jowls don’t dance. 

Friday, 10 May 1996  8:35am It’s a New Age for J, Sis.  I had a bit of a revelation last night.  I was shaving after a bath to soothe away the rigours of the day, and I noticed something in my face I’d never spied before.  I’m getting jowls.  I’ve put on weight, and I’m getting jowls.  They’re embryonic jowls to be sure, but the … Continue reading Men with jowls don’t dance. 

I’m planning, conniving, choreographing a delicately balanced ballet of politics, greed and manipulation. I’m trying to get a pay rise you see.

Tuesday, 8 August 1995 1:27pm Wheeeeeeeeee.  I’m feeling all light-headed from champagne, courtesy of Cav.  He and his Dad, Jeremy and I just downed a bottle in the tea room.  Some cafe gave it to Cav at Christmas for being a regular customer.  It was nice, I’m no champagne connoisseur, but it was light and tangy.  It’s Cav’s farewell proper tonight.  Drinks at “Klicks” then … Continue reading I’m planning, conniving, choreographing a delicately balanced ballet of politics, greed and manipulation. I’m trying to get a pay rise you see.

I even had on a mohair jumper! But all to no avail.

Monday, 3 July 1995  12:28pm S, Howdy.  Another heater-hugging morning down in the Antipodes.  I’ve got my big bulky coat on and The Stone Roses in my Walkman and I’m feeling nice and cosy.  I actually went to that party I was telling you about in my last letter.  It was in Richmond, between two factories.  Simon came over about 8pm with half a slab … Continue reading I even had on a mohair jumper! But all to no avail.