Sweet Dreams (are made of this)

So this whole posting-every-day thing is quite fun – although it has become clear that I need to do engage in some more interesting activities so as to have something to write about. I’ve got to the point where I’m not sure where each day’s topic will come from (and I’m sure that is reasonably obvious to you all).

Yesterday was no exception. I was discussing this dilemma of mine with RVW as we cruised around looking for frypans and crockery and teatowels (we didn’t find an example of the latter that we could agree on. Teatowels! I know! We did, however, find an excellent butter dish).

We had stumbled across some great markets in East London, and were having a fine time soaking up the atmosphere. Rip suggested that the markets would make a good topic. I agreed, but couldn’t think about how I could make them particularly interesting and/or funny. They were big, and sold lots of stuff. They smelled good, and bad. There was music, and lots of people. The end.

What I didn’t realise is that the most remarkable point of my day was yet to come. I introduced RVW to a good friend of mine, PT, over dinner at an excellent Moroccan restaurant. I was a bit apprehensive, as I often am when bringing different spheres of my world together. The thought of people I rate highly not getting along is an alarming one – mostly because I am lazy and selfish and the more I can have my friends all hang out together, the easier my life becomes.

I needn’t have worried. RVW and PT got on like a house on fire. So well, in fact, that after several bottles of red wine we had adjourned to PT’s nearby flat, whereupon the two of them stood up in her living room and performed the greatest hits of the Eurythmics (all of them. I’m serious) in a highly entertaining fashion.

I contributed some backing vocals now and again, but the show was theirs. It was a side of both of them I’d not seen before, but greatly enjoyed. A beautiful sight: two of my good friends, bonding in no uncertain terms as they shouted a very energetic rendition of Thorn in My Side. I knew I’d found the moment I wanted to record here. I’m still aching from the laughing.

And I really, really wish I could get the song out of my head.

Apparently it was exhausting work: Rip van Winkle did his signature trick not long afterwards, falling asleep on PT’s couch. I tried to wake him when I left, but to no avail. PT assured me he was more than welcome, so I left him snoozing and trundled home.

(I did send him a text message telling him where he was and how to get home, as a reference for when he woke up the next morning. It’s all part of the service I provide.)

When I reached my own home I discovered that the night was not over, in terms of karaoke performances of questionable quality. Mr Juicy and Madam Juicy had invested in a new toy: a SingStar game.

Tired and drunky, I was not permitted to retire for the evening until I had belted out a classic or two in our own living room. And so, bowing to the inevitability of my own humiliation, I began.

My results? Heaven is a Place on Earth? Nailed it (god help me). Perfect by Fairground Attraction? A confident attempt, mostly successful except for that insanely high note at the end. Eye of the Tiger? Really freaking hard. It’s a good thing I’m moving out of this flat soon, I’m not sure the neighbours will ever forgive me.

And I think that’s perhaps enough karaoke for the time being.