Weird for not being weird
I was one of two music geeks at my tough London comprehensive. Me: short, skinny, awkward, brainy, played the cello quite well. Leyla: bolshy, flirty, obnoxious, stunningly beautiful, in the year above, played the violin quite well.

Boy, was Leyla a bad influence on me.

I already had a rebellious streak partly caused by the fact that I thought it grossly unfair that I was expected to be all sad and geeky just because I played an instrument, and partly because I was an anarchistic little shit.

Leyla and I used to go around in miniscule skirts, untucked shirts and Croydon facelifts, mouth off to teachers, terrorise boys and then go off to play piano trios with the head of music. It was bizarre.

I’ve got two favourite memories of Leyla: In the first one, we were waiting for our mums to pick us up after a rehearsal when her English teacher (a terrifying, morbidly obese Northerner) happened to walk past. To my horror/fascination/admiration, Leyla sashayed up to him, stood way too close and purred that he was her “favourite teacher”. This usually unflappable disciplinarian went bright red and muttered a terse, “Thank you”.

A few weeks later, we were drafted in to play chamber music for the GCSE art exhibition. We were to play two sets, one at the beginning and one at the end. Refreshments were available at this event, including alcoholic beverages for the parents. Between sets, Leyla managed to get herself completely and utterly trashed to the point that she lost control of her bodily functions. Half an hour before we were due to play our second set she was semi-conscious, hugging a toilet. All credit to the girl, she managed to pull herself together and maintain at least an illusion of sobriety for the time it took for us to take requests from our adoring, oblivious headmaster. Her intonation was a bit off though.

So I guess we were weird for not being weird, if that makes any sense.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Mon 22 Jan 2007, 11:16, Reply)