Well, it's all happening in the Yardimci household tonight. Lloyd Webber may as well put all other auditions on hold because my Lads might just have something here to knock his very sock suspenders off.
That's right, for Day Twenty Eight of our Ramadan Kindness Calendar we have called on our musical expertise to help a friend out. A friend in dire need. A friend about to embark on the most hellish of all things . . . a hen night to a sing-a-long movie. And that movie is none other than the hot topic in our house at this very moment (if you don't count the world cup), The Greatest Showman.
That friend is actually (if it weren't for the hubby) my other half. Honestly. If not my other half then possibly my sister in a parallel world. I mean, we bonded over her 'Zumba Mumba' classes seven years ago when I was trying to shift the baby weight but quickly realised that although we were all for the fitness thang, we both preferred to fast track cake, wine and regular heart-to-hearts. She even forgave me when I nicknamed her 'Slapper' in a blog describing the heroic efforts of her bloke in a car-rolling incident last summer (check that one out, it's a gem).
I had to leave her behind in the North East when I moved down here to Devon, but I would have squeezed her into the removals van if there'd been a slither of space left. My Lads were also most upset to leave behind her two boys as they were thick as thieves up north, and I STILL have to explain regularly why Charlie and Elliott can't just leave their lives and come and live with us. T'would be nice though.
Anyway, I was chatting to Slapper on the phone only last night when she mentioned her imminent drunken jaunt to the cinema to sing along with Mr Jackman himself. She was all for the drunken jaunt bit but was slightly lacking in knowledge when it came to the actual songs. I sighed. Heavily. And wished I could empathise.
I explained the Slapper that the Lads have been learning the songs from said movie for a performance showcase they have coming up with their theatre group, Project Performers. It's all I've heard come out of their gobs for the past few weeks, and although that is DELIGHTFUL, I wish they'd mix things up a bit sometimes with a bit of Dylan or Orbison.
But no matter, because Slapper was on it. She wanted them to sing to her. Down the phone. Immediately.
Alas, in the world of strict bedtimes and exhausted mothers, there wasn't a chance in hell I was hauling them from their pits to croon down the phone. But I promised we'd video call her the next day with a singing telegram of sorts.
And then, alas, in the world of long work hours and football clubs and making dinner and all that jazz, we couldn't make that work either (not for lack of trying - both of our phones are probably begging for a factory re-set after all that texting). But Slapper being the resourceful one out of the two of us, suggested we make her a video.
(Stay with it until 40 seconds in when Little Lad gets his groove on - it's worth it)
It's their ENTIRE rendition of 'Come Alive' and don't worry, I'm not one of those mums who thinks her children perform perfectly and without a flaw. Actually, I'm one of those mums who think the flaws are what make it perfect. If you've watched the video, I think you'll agree.
So Slapper now has everything she needs to practice at least one song from The Greatest Showman, although she may be a little intimidated by the performance standard set by the Yardimci Lads. Who'd blame her?
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