Breathing In

I decided to go and see what was happening in the High Street on St Patrick’s Day. We do not have a large Irish community here as far as I know. But I was bored so WTF.

I had a tour of the High Street to see what was going on. Some drunken Irish people being drunken and Irish. Pretty much as expected really. Being 50 percent Irish felt duty bound to join in.

It was a pretty good evening. I made some new “friends for life”, who’s faces and names have now faded from memory. Actually I’m not sure that there ever was a memory in the first place. I had quite a bit to drink.

Two things I do remember. One is, I smoked a cigarette. I am so annoyed with myself, this is the first time I have smoked since before Christmas. Too much alcohol and my will power leaves by the nearest window.

The second thing I remember but wished I didn’t is that I sang at a Karaoke. Now I hate Karaoke with a passion. It’s tolerable if the singer can sing, but when someone can’t it’s torture.

My friends find the singing out of tune funny. Apparently it’s all part of being a sport. I disagree heartily. Singing out of tune in public should be the next freedom curtailed in the name of The War on Terror, or whatever it is they are branding it as this week,

Let me make this crystal clear, if you stand up and murder a song I love, then I’m going to murder you. It really is that simple – and your kids – and anyone you smiled at in the last 24 hours.

Not surprisingly no one ever invites me along to Karaoke evenings, which is just fine with me.

But on Tuesday night after too many Guinness, I was up and murdering songs with the best of them. I actually enjoyed it, although I doubt if any one else did.

I enjoyed Karaoke? I must have had way too much to drink. But as I said at the time, “Ish traditional.” So that’s OK then.

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