It’s just a little village pub, but on Friday night for one night only I was a singing legend. Karaoke – either you love it or hate it. Jeff hates it, but somehow always ends up belting out ‘Mustang Sally’ come 11.30. It’s not that I’m even that good – I just sing in tune, which makes me X Factor material in my village. By the end of the night, we’re all in a sweaty huddle straining to get near to the mike for one last rendition of ‘Angels’ or ‘Living on a Prayer’. It’s kind of a modern day ‘sing song around the piano’ which has been a firm favourite of pub regulars for many years, assisted by too much cloudy cider and cheap wine.
But it’s the crap singers who make Karaoke fun, isn’t it? Yeah, it’s nice to discover that ‘corner shop Jan’ does a mean Tina Turner in her spare time but to see ‘baldy John’, eyes slightly glazed, clearly hearing something completely different to the rest of the room as he murders ‘Norwegian Wood’ (again!) is priceless.
I could only manage two glasses of wine in the four hour period (due to my abstinence over the last 2 weeks) but it was simple, silly fun! A good end to a great week off!