May 21st, Wednesday. Gig No.37, Wednesday. Old School Yard, Borough

Old School Yard again. Turned up early, first one there. Go down to the basement, and there’s all this commotion. In a side room, behind closed doors, the sounds of some kind of party. I decide to take a peek through the cracks of the door. (Like a good little pervert) It’s a Karaoke party! As far as I could tell, four girls were in there. Singing ABBA. Badly. Really badly. I mean I’m tone deaf but this took the piss. They sound like ducks having kinky sex games with tantric bondage whips.

QUACK!! QUAAAAACK! QUAAAACK!! QUAAACK QUACK QUAAAAACK!!!

(You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life)

QUACK!! QUAAAAACK! QUAAAACK!! QUAAACK QUACK QUAAAAACK!!!

(See that girl, watch that scene, digging the Dancing Queen)

OK. I really am running out of shit to write.

Karaoke has always scared me. Doing stand up is logically more scary but as I said, I’m tone deaf. And a bit damaged. It’s an area of real fear. The idea of getting up and murdering The Cheeky Song in front of a load of stunned punters brings me out in a cold, clammy sweat.

My Dad did Karaoke once. We were on holiday in Menorca, and, flushed with holiday spirit (Vodka and Red Bull), he got up and sang Mack The Knife. Mack the Knife!! Him!! My Dad looks dangerous enough as it is. He is a thick necked, bullheaded, stocky, hard drinking cockney boozer. And Mack the Knife is about stabbing. The whole bar shat themselves. Mouths agape. Just what you want on a night out innit? A fucking murder ballad. Whats worse, not only was his singing worse than mine, HE STARTED MIMING STABBING. I fucking shit you not. He started miming stabbing someone, then TWISTING THE KNIFE IN THE WOUND. With RELISH. This is in a Mediterranean bar with a load of paunchy middle aged holiday makers with Hawaiian shirts and sunburnt noses. All wondering what fucking insane hell they had walked into. I literally had to leave. I couldn’t watch. The man was scaring ME, and he’d never touch a hair on my head. My Dad should never be allowed anywhere near a Karaoke machine again. Or a knife. Tell you what though, I knew right then where I got my miming skills from. Fuck me, the detail, the intensity. You really felt he was actually stabbing someone. (While crooning. A crooning mime murder ballad act. Simon Cowell won’t know whats fucking hit him. Especially if someone finally clumps the bastard)

On a sidewalk, blue Sunday mornin'
Lies a body just ooozin' life

(STAB)

Some, someone's sneakin' 'round a corner
could that someone be Old Mack the Knife?

(STAB. STAB. TWIST. STAB.)

Gig No.37 done. Promoter Brian Chimombo