Scuttling through the door famished from swimming finding me pretty much where they left me. Folded in three on the sofa with legs under knees peeping out from beneath the paper lowered in surprise at their return. So soon. Already?
What they don’t know is since they’ve been gone, I have given air-guitar career defining performances. Scaled the dizzy heights of lip-syncing precision. Had all the dolls and teddies eating out of the palm of my hand. Oh yeah, baby. In a drab housing estate in the North of Ireland where beige is the new rock ‘n’ roll, boundaries of domesticity have been pushed to the outer limits with a bog standard sweeping brush. Stand aside Tinkerbell, there’s a new diva in town.
Family members fixed me with framed smiles as I navigated abandoned Lego like a swirling dervish reaching crescendos along with a feverish Patti Smith. Tinkerbell toppled over in ecstasy from almost knocking herself out with head-spinning punk pirouettes to New Order’s Ceremony. She’s no match for me.
“I know who I am, I’m not who you think I am.”
I’m in Dexy’s giving it Northern Soul
Stopping briefly in Japan…
Looking for angels with David Byrne
I’m Polly Jean Queen
Free for another fifteen
Mere minutes till they’re back
And I would’ve gotten away with it if it wasn’t for the pesky volume button left at top tonsil to scare the bejaysus us out of all.
Warning: The news was not made to be played loud.