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.

How long is 90 seconds? I’ll tell you.

  An Aside from S In this letter J says that he is typing his 1996 diary and that it is filed in a folder – I have never seen/found this folder which is why there are no diary excerts for 1996. He also writes about protecting and destroying his diary…   Sunday, 17 March 1996 Hey Sis, here’s an overdue letter, eh?  Sorry to … Continue reading How long is 90 seconds? I’ll tell you.

Stories about people on trams and doughnuts aren’t exactly edge-of-your-seat stuff, but it’s the exchanging of these trivialities that keep us in touch.

Wednesday, 27 September 1995  9:17AM I never told you how that party on Saturday night went did I? I arrived elevenish, went in and frantically look around the room for someone I knew. I saw Lisa, grabbed her and made her talk. Then Paige (Matt the host’s girlfriend) came along and we had a stilted chat while I tried to get drunk and didn’t succeed. … Continue reading Stories about people on trams and doughnuts aren’t exactly edge-of-your-seat stuff, but it’s the exchanging of these trivialities that keep us in touch.

I refuse to go to a party where I’m the only person I know. That’s the sort of situation that leads to excessive indulgence and a Sunday of self-flagellation.

Wednesday, 20 September 1995  9:05AM Spoke to Dad on the phone yesterday, he’s offered me free tickets to the Melbourne Show. Apparently he and Uncle Beluga Big-Bum have supplied a few Jeeps for the judges to zoom around in while they check out the sheep and the cattle and the goats and the what have you. So, anyway, if I’ve got one of Dad’s business … Continue reading I refuse to go to a party where I’m the only person I know. That’s the sort of situation that leads to excessive indulgence and a Sunday of self-flagellation.

I feel like floating up and never coming back, maybe I could take up a career as a cloud or something.

The next letter I received from J was dated from 4/9/95 to 27/9/95 it was 23 pages long and just over 10,000 words, he named it “The Monster Letter”.  I have broken it down into days for posting here.   Monday, 4 September 1995  9:18 AM S, Oh God. God God God. How do I begin this one?  Maybe with a swig from the neck … Continue reading I feel like floating up and never coming back, maybe I could take up a career as a cloud or something.

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.

I’ve read that beautiful chicks think that being beautiful is enough in itself, and they don’t put in any effort in the sack.

Friday, 30 June, 1995 9:30am Hi Sis, So, how about Hugh Grant’s little brush with the seedy underbelly of urban America?  Poor bloke, he’s really blown it (couldn’t resist, sorry). I feel a bit sorry for him, did you see the look on his face in that mug shot? It must be on the front page of every rag in England.  Everyone here keeps saying … Continue reading I’ve read that beautiful chicks think that being beautiful is enough in itself, and they don’t put in any effort in the sack.