Twas Brillig

And now for something completely different…

It was November of 1983, and the London air was cold and damp. I was bundled in my tan woolly coat with a cheap but adored scarf purchased at Bayswater Station wrapped tightly around my throat. My dear sister Amy, seven years my senior (though my closest sister in age), accompanied me through the dark streets as we made our way to the man who would help us.

I don’t know why we were allowed out after dark, just the two of us little girls. In my memory, it was very late at night. But since it gets dark around 4:30 p.m. in London during that time of year, it may have only been supper time. Either way, it felt sneaky to me in the moment. Amy was only 12, after all, and I was a wee 5 year old. Surely we’d said something very clever to our parents, who were likely too busy with research and students to want to fight with us over it, so they let us go. They certainly wouldn’t have understood our mission.

Finally we approached the man who would soothe our souls with the answer to our eternal question. The air was thick with the smell of rain, car exhaust, and cigarette smoke–all scents that would remind me of London for decades to come. Amy cleared her throat. “Excuse me,” she said, in her ridiculous attempt at a British accent. (She should have let me do the talking. My accent was real. Hers sounded like a mix of Utahn and Kentucky-an and South African. Even at my tender age, I could tell that she was trying too hard.)

“Excuse me, sir. I was wondering if you could tell me…”

My breath caught in my throat. Soon we would know!

“I was wondering if you could tell me when the next Duran Duran album will be released.”

I’m sure the man had to stifle a snicker. But we were earnest. Oh yes, this was vital information for us.

As it turned out, it wouldn’t be released until the next month there in England, and by then we’d be back in the US so we’d have to wait for several more months after that, as there was always a lag between release dates in the UK and release dates in the States. HOW WOULD WE BEAR IT?

I’m sure we whined and whined at the poor man, convinced somehow that if we just pleaded valiantly enough, he’d move up the release date for us. But when he wouldn’t budge, we left, defeated.

“Union of the Snake” had already been released as a single, which we’d bought on vinyl with our meager combined allowances, but it was only enough to tease us, not appease us. It seemed an eternity would have to pass before we could hear the rest of the Durany Deliciousness.

Yes, I was only five. But I had the great fortune of sharing a bedroom with Amy who at the wizened age of 12 seemed to know everything, and I was her apprentice. Thanks to her, I knew every lyric, guitar rift, and key change to every Duran Duran song ever. I collected posters and clipped interviews from silly British teen magazines. (I was FIVE, people! My oldest daughter is five, and she can sing the words to Barney… That’s the difference between the oldest, who is sheltered by mommy and daddy, and the youngest, who shares a bedroom with her teenage sister, I guess.)

I had five stuffed animals. They were Simon, Nick, John, Roger, and Andy.

And we had posters plastered to every last inch of wallspace. Amy had claimed John as her true love. Her best friend Alex (of whom I was TERRIBLY jealous, but that’s another story) had claimed Roger. They allowed me to pick from the remaining three.

Easiest choice EVER.

Hello, Simon!

(Though, I confess that over the years, when I no longer cared that Amy had already claimed him, I became excessively fond of John. Excessively.)

As the years went on, my obsession continued through my teens (and was very much revitalized in 1993, when I was 15, with the release of the single “Ordinary World”, which to this day I consider to be the pinnacle of modern music) but naturally it started to wane with age and maturity.

I grew up, and so did they.

A few days ago, I was cleaning the house and my kids were “helping.” I told Fluffy to turn on some music, so she grabbed my CD case and randomly put a CD into the player. Suddenly “Please, Please Tell Me Now” sounded out through the living room and all of my kids began singing and dancing as though their eyes had just been opened to the true beauties of this earth. I particularly watched my little Fluffy, who (for once) reminded me so much of myself at her age. And so, I pass the torch on to the next generation. While I’ve gotten rid of all the posters and the t-shirts and the interview clips and *gasp* even the cassette tapes, I’ve held onto the many, many vinyl records. One of these days, I will dust off my old record player and show her how to carefully place the needle just right, and I will bequeath my treasures to her.

Her world will never be the same.