Friday, July 01, 2005

Because it most definitely runs in the family.

You'd think that after yesterday's hellish hangover-ridden entry I would have taken myself home to bed promptly, had a good solid lump of sleep (do you know what? Lump is one of my least favourite words. It actually makes me feel a bit sick.) and woken up all refreshed prepared to start the day with a spring in my step and a song in my heart.

However, if you were thinking that you clearly don't know me at all.

I had no choice. My little sister Sophie was back in London from Paris for a bit, having come back to go the Glastonbury Festival, and I had to go and have some Sophie-time. Because, you know, Sophie-time? Is just another way of saying Crazy-time.

I went and met her in a pub in Soho, where we sat and had pints (yes, yes I know) and caught up. She talked about Paris, about her French and Italian friends, about music and parties and how she still gets stuck when she has to ask for something really basic in a shop but is absolutely fine when in a high-brow conversation about existentialism or the like, because she is my sister and just perverse like that (it's in the genes). I, in turn, told her about my singing, how I've got a gig coming up, how I have moved into a flat in Shoreditch, the gigs I've been going to and the people I've been meeting. I also told her about my not-so-recent-anymore break up, my crush, and, of course, the fact that I write about my life on this Internet and that people (sometimes) read it.

This confused her, I think.

Anyway. Sophie's a singer as well, and we sing together when we get the opportunity. When we're washing up, when we're watching TV, in fact pretty much whenever we can. Even when we're arguing. It's like Jerry Springer: The Opera (which, by the way, is one of the funniest musicals I've ever seen. You want to see the Ku Klux Klan tap dancing? Go and see it.).

So we left the pub last night and had the following conversation:

Sophie: Oh wonderfully marvellous Big Sister?
Léonie: Don't call me big.
Sophie: Oh. Alright then. Oh wonderfully marvellous (and beautifully slim) Sister?
Léonie: Better. Yes?
Sophie: I miss us singing together!
Léonie: Oh I miss that TOO!
(nb. Sophie and I don't usually talk with exclamation marks all the time but it we felt last night was an occasion that warranted it)
Sophie: (impishly) Let's sing now!
Léonie: Stop being impish! You know it disconcerts me. What? Sing? But, Smaller-Sister-who-has-the-propensity-to-be-rather-impish-at-times, we are in the middle of the street! In Soho!
Sophie: Yeah? So? We do it ALL THE TIME in Paris. It's quite the done thing. (She didn't really say 'it's quite the done thing'. She doesn't live in an Oscar Wilde play.)
Léonie: (refusing to be outdone by Sophie's French-y cool je ne sais quoi) Then we are doing it now.

And sing we did. We sang (in harmony, with a fair bit of showing off because we are both dreadful show-offs) Summertime, Lady is a Tramp, Ain't No Sunshine (sorry, Paul), Amazing Grace, You Make Me Feel (Like a Natural Woman) and various others. We sang in Soho, where we had a small crowd of two Irishmen and another man (nationality unknown), who gave us money and clapped loudly. We sang on Poland Street, where we got a huge round of applause from two girls leaning out of a window and various other people walking past. We sang on Oxford Street, where nobody batted an eyelid because we looked like a couple of tramps. We then sang a little bit on the tube, until Sophie got off at Holborn ( I had to stay on till Liverpool Street). I have a very clear image of Sophie standing on the platform as the train pulled away, arms flung open wide with total abandon, singing at the top of her voice (and that's some loud singing, right there) "I Love You Léonie! I Love You!".

I tell you what. That is an image that makes me happy.

I miss my naughty impish little sister.

So, no, I didn't rest or take myself home like a good girl. But after last night's Crazy-Sophie-time, I most definitely have a spring in my step and a song in my heart.

Have a lovely weekend.

8 Comments:

Blogger Doug said...

I'm glad you had a good time. Of course, now Sophie is one more person who probably know all about your crush while the rest of us (the real important people) are left wanting.

1:38 pm

 
Blogger Bug said...

Question: if you hate the L-word, how did you cope when the Presidents of the United States had that song that rhymes with "bump"??

2:00 pm

 
Blogger Leah said...

Awww! I really wish that you had video of that. I would PAY.

2:18 pm

 
Anonymous Paul said...

Lump? Pretty bad. Worse still? Mound.

Roll it around your mouth a little. Moowwwwnnnndd.

Both as a word and as a thing, it's like a lump, only worse.

MOOOUUUUNNNNNNDDDDDD.

Bleurgh. Hate that word.

Glad you had a good evening, even if you did sing a sing that should be touched by no-one in the wake of the great Bill Withers :-)

See you at Euan's tomorrow.

PS also? Now tempted to spread a rumour that the person you have a crush on is fellow regular-commenter No1Hypocrite. He has photos on his website too.

Hi, No1...

2:18 pm

 
Blogger Léonie said...

I think YOU have a crush on No.1, Paul. You're obsessed.
I do too, of course, but he has a girlfriend and also he lives in that Big Country where they have Michael Moore and all the burgers, and that's like, all far away and stuff.

5:21 pm

 
Anonymous Paul said...

Damn. My true motivation uncovered.

5:48 pm

 
Anonymous number1hypocrite said...

For the record:

1) Sorry, Paul, I just don't swing that way. I'm not gay.

2) It is indeed a Big Country that I live in. And I live in the north-eastern most state in said Country.

3) Michael Moore is a douchebag who made entirely too much money for exposing only one side of a story. Not to say I agree or disagree with his work, but any fair arguement (in my book) should show equally both sides of it.

4)Burgers are an entirely different story. Especially in a Country where a man can become famous by making himself obese (on purpose!) by eating strictly fast-food for 30 days and then writing a book about it.

5) Leonie, I'd be flattered if you did indeed have a crush on me. Your secret is safe with me. But to rest everyones thoughts, care to tell me? I promise I'm a good secret-keeper. Even via comment or something secretive like e-mail (number1hypocrite@yahoo.com)

1:23 am

 
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Jerry Springer the Opera is a satanic piece of writing. How dare you publicise the work of Belzebub on your blog? You are damaging your readers, infecting their minds with this filth.

Also, on another matter, God was kind enough to share with me some disappointing news. It appears, that having been gifted a ticket for the sacred "ColdPlay" gig, you promptly lost it, together with your wallet and its contents. I find it baffling that this most traumatic of events has gone unmentioned on your blog - until now. I feel it my duty as a servant of the Lord to point out to your readers this stunning omission. Perhaps it was omitted because you did not wish the "giver of the sacred ticket to Coldplay" to find out about your carelessness. Well, too bad...he knows...

May you be struck down with guilt and beg him for forgiveness

BIG JC

Ps. Nee mind about the ticket hey, these things happen. Germany is awesome, tried to call but presume your mob got nicked too. Let me know your landline number and will call that.
Lots of love, miss you loads
Chris x

11:18 am

 

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