I was induced to some karaoke at last year's office discount (because, as a business, we spend all our money on poor decisions) Christmas party. For reasons I find difficult to understand, I'm senior leadership (when I only feel senior), so apparently I have to set a (poor) example. I am at the age where I am easily bullied by young women (on account that, after nearly 20 years of marriage, they might as well be aliens). I have no idea why I am being so parenthetical this evening (probably because I just had a near miss with modern opera*).
As the first drink was thrust into my hand about 2pm, I have a hazy memory of what I was singing at 9pm, but there was definitely a mix of Abba and Half Man Half Biscuit. There may have been screaming.
The high (or low) spot of my brief career in karaoke saw us getting unplugged by the management (or people with ears) while belting out an all-boy version of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun in a bar in Boca Raton. That song was chosen (surreptitiously) by the girls, of course. Some girls really just want to have fun (at our expense). All these events have involved women and alcohol, so there is your circumstance.
It'a a fair deduction that I can't sing or old any kind of tune, alas hanging around with a musician (amateur but dedicated) means a lot of people ask me what instrument I play. My last dalliance with a musical instrument was Miss Beer's recorder class when I was circa seven years old and I was ruthlessly excommunicated for pretending to play while instead doing a poor imitation of the noise the recorder would have made if I were blowing through it. Honestly, I think that was better all around. Obviously, I carry this trauma around with me like a weight chained to my soul. Or possibly a tuba.
My other encounter with Sigourney Weaver was in the Albert Hall, when I nearly walked into her in the corridor. I didn't actually recognise her till my wife kicked me and told me (my wife is often pointing out famous people who I rarely recognise even when pointed out). Anyway, she didn't blast me with a pulse rifle (it was for a orchestral performance of Aliens and I'm pretty sure I bumped into her trying to avoid bumping into James Cameron). Once upon a time in NYC (I get around), my wife and I had what I thought was a sotto voce argument about whether the person at the bar was Ethan Hawke which he was so obviously wasn't. Anyway, he left and the waiter brought us over a replacement round of cocktails and the message 'yes, he is.' I recognise Judi Dench because she's the queen of the red squirrels at the local wildlife centre (owned by her partner) and we sponsor the weasels and stoats.
I do have the ever cheerful Oedipus lined up next week. Those ancient Greeks really did get themselves in a pickle and then continuing my Shakespeare with Much Ado About Nothing. Will let you know if I manage to inadvertently blank Tom Hiddleston.
*Mary Queen of Scots at the ENO. I just struggle with opera, especially the modern stuff, which this production is.
