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30
Bond was glad that the people of Stockport had good beer to drink since from what he’d seen of the town so far the only way to cope with living in it would be to maintain a constant state of inebriation. He thought he might have at least one more pint, maybe two, with his pie when it came, but then suddenly his evening went pear-shaped. Bond, raising the dimpled pint pot to his lips to take another welcome draught, almost dropped it when an ear-splitting screech that must have been something in the order of ninety decibels suddenly assaulted his eardrums. At first I was afraid, I was petrified.... “Whghat thegh….” burbled Bond, bitter beer gurgling from his mouth and down his chin, soaking his tie. “Karaoke night,” said the landlord, matter of fact. “Karaoke?” Bond had heard of the phenomenon of karaoke but had never experienced it until now. “Every Thursday. You’re in luck,” said the landlord mischievously, having seen Bond’s reaction to the first line of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’. The singer, for want of a better expression, was in another room up the passage, and sounded about as much like the famed American chanteuse as Mickey Mouse sounds like Pavarotti. Go on now go walk out the door just turn around now 'cause you're not welcome anymore.... “I don’t know about anybody else being not welcome anymore but she certainly isn’t welcome here any more,” said the landlord, with feeling. “She’s here every bloody week. Same song. I Will Survive. And not just her. I get at least four singing it, I had eight one week. I tried fooling them once, I rigged the karaoke machine so that when you pressed I Will Survive the words and music for The White Cliffs Of Dover came on but it didn’t make any difference, they still sang I Will Survive.” “It’s anthemic,” said a man at the bar. “Women regard it as their anthem. A tribute to womanhood. The survival of woman in a man’s world. My wife used to sing I Will Survive all the time.” |