Somehow I have been talked into going to a karaoke night at a pub, its one of those local pubs that doesn’t have customers, just regulars. I’m staring at a big muscled woman, trying to spot the give away adams-apple because she has all the other signs of being a man in drag; big hands, muscles, broad shoulders and incredibly bad hair/wig.

Literally translated karaoke means shameful/bad sounds/noises*. I hate karaoke, partly because its always the same songs that are inevitably sung, the songs that are played by every mobile DJ at every wedding reception up and down this idiot country. So, not only do you have to sit through the same bad songs but the only variance is how badly the songs are sung.

Given enough liquor I could sit through the background noise of tuneless “classics”, i could even put up with the uncomfortable humiliation of heart-hearted applause for the truly bad singers and even endure the shout-a-long bounding exercise as a hen party hug their way through the third rendition of “Angels” of the night. I find the worst thing about karaoke is the certain type of volunteer that takes it far too seriously, normally female, they take to the stage with faux shyness, still holding out hope that a talent scout from fucking Sony happens to be in the bar looking for the next Lisa Stanfield.

Karaoke at its worst has failed dreams clouding the air as thick as the cheap cigarette smoke, while idiots drown their self respect in warm flat larger and a chubby woman dressed as mutton belts her way through “If I Could Turn Back Time” adding unnecessary vibrato to her already weak voice surrounded by drunk factory workers try to hide their board erections and wait for there turn to embarrass themselves for the sake of a cheap adrenaline rush.

*this may be a lie