I got asked to a pub last night where there was some karaoke going on. I don’t have a single clue why I bothered, because the mere concept is depressing—this is the kind of hopeless naffness you get sucked into when you don’t have a life. And sure enough, a parade of ageing and not-so-ageing exhibitionists mounted the stage and murdered a stream of 30-year-old songs that were crap to begin with.
I knew the nadir was attained when I’m In The Mood For Dancing turned up… well, it just had to, didn’t it?
Okay, so I’m a po-faced misery. And proud of it.