On being a public disgrace
Today's playlist: The Pretenders – Brass in Pocket.
Ok, fine, so it's a passable song. However, whenever I hear it, commercial radio staple that it is, I get urges. Dreadful, anti-social, embarrassing urges.
Whenever Brass in Pocket comes into earshot, I have to sing along. I know full well that I cannot sing (describing myself, like Stephen Fry, as not only being tone deaf but also tone dumb), but I cannot help myself.
It's as I get to the chorus that the trouble starts. It's the word "special", for I cannot stop myself from pressing tongue to lower lip and, well, belming. "Special", you understand, in the "Special Bus" context.
To whit: "I'm special (special), so special (special) / something somethingty something / give it to meeeeee"
As offensive behaviour goes, it is neither big nor clever, and particularly not whilst standing in the queue for the tills in Superdrug. If I were Pretenders singer Chrissie Hyde, I'd be torn between staying at home and playing with my breasts, or storming down to Weymouth to biff me in the conker.
But I simply cannot help myself, and for this I shall burn in Hell.
So: Last Saturday in the Weymouth branch of Woolworths, eyeing up the latest Wii releases, and my lips start moving involuntarily to the words:
"Gonna use my arms / Gonna use my legs / Gonna press my tongue into my lower lip…"
"Don't you DARE" said me lovely wife.
I dared. I'm not proud.