Twisted Sister

Sophie was listening to the radio yesterday, when what should come along but a song by those tippex-nosed rebels of the 80s, Adam and the Ants. It bought back a childhood memory, possibly one that she has been repressing, and one that is very telling about our relationship many moons ago. She was rather indignant about the whole sorry episode when I spoke to her last night, and I can't say I blame her. Are we sitting comfortably?

Rewind 25 years. You may have to keep your finger on the rewind button for some time, until you arrive at a semi-detached house in suburban Barnehurst in the early 80s. The radio is playing Adam and the Ants, with their meaningless sing-along-a lyrics that are a thinly disguised excuse for the band to don extravagent fancy dress outfits for their video: "Dontchoo ever, dontchoo ever, stop being dandy showing me you're handsome?" (wot?).

At this point, I casually mention to Sophie that I know where Adam Ant lives. Upon further questioning, I reveal that he lives under a rock in our very own back garden. Sophie is doubtful, but I tell her I could quite easily show him to her if she wants to accompany me to the rockery. She does so. I lift up a rock to reveal a few ants, scurrying around, probably singing crap lyrics in very quiet ant-voices. "There" I say, pointing at one of them "That's him". She questions how I know which one was Adam, and I explain: "He's the one who's the most flamboyantly dressed". Then I promptly march back indoors.

Sophie remained slightly sceptical, apparently. But a few days later she went and checked the rock again, and there he was. Flamboyantly-dressed Adam, under his rock just where I said he would be.

I'm not sure how many years later it was that she remembered this incident and realised she had been had.

I was a baaaad older sister in those days. I used to take advantage of her childhood imagination - I also remember telling her that I could transport the bathroom to a range of secret and amazing lands when we were in the bath. I was the only one who was allowed to go to the door and check where we had ended up: well, as the older sister it was my job to protect her, right? And bloody brave I was too - many a time we ended up cowering in the bath from dinonsaurs, giant frogs and two-headed giants. But I always managed to get her back safely for bed-time. Surely that should count for something?