Remember my name!

Ka and myself discovered we have a karaoke machine in our tv last night?! We were having a 'quiet one' which involved staying in and watching movies with a couple of beers and a bowl of pretzels. It had been years since I had ate pretzels and I'd completely forgotten how good they actually are. A curly wurly like crisp with heavy doses of salt sprinkled over. Invented by Italian Monks apparently. The three holes in the loop representing the Christian Trinity of Father, Son and Holy Ghost. The more religious readers out there will probably be disappointed to hear that Ka and myself did not partake in much of a Christian ceremony whilst watching 'Iron Man' though. We simply considered them a good munch, perfect for a 'quiet one' with a couple of beers. In fact, I've just this minute polished off the last of the packet whilst watching the latest episode of 'Being Human'. My very own way of keeping the Sabbath. (Incidentally, Curly Wurly's were great too. Remember them? Do you still get them?! They were more ladder shaped than Holy Trinity shaped though...)
Anyway, Ka was browsing through the movies on offer via our Virgin media movie rental system and came across a whole karaoke section in which you could purchase music videos for 20p each. A bargain, if you were up for making a fool of yourself. For some, inexplicable reason, we were! So safe in the knowledge that it had been darkness in the upstairs flat when we had arrived home and under the impression Mr Singstar (see post 'Take That hell') was out Ka pressed the buy button. Despite some lame complaints and disapprovals from myself, I eventually relented and Ka and myself ended up singing Fame at the top of our voices dancing around the living room. The accompanying video which looked like something straight off the Movies 24 channel told the heartfelt story about a dreary looking housewife dreaming about the life she could of had if she had not married her boss from the office all those years ago (it kinda reminded me of a few folk actually).
As the music finished and the living room returned to quiet, Ka and myself laughed at our stupidity and as I turned to go to the loo (the vague dancing about the living room had obviously affected my 30 something year old bladder) we stopped. Suddenly music blared into full volume from upstairs, rising from the quiet volume it had obviously been sitting in before our audible onslaught. Mr Singstar was in fact, in the building and was obviously not impressed by our fame rendition. As I made my way out into the hall, cowering with embarrassment, I eventually realised through laughing that it certainly was not the worst thing the neighbour could have overheard us sing. He had been singing Take That constantly for a whole Sunday with his pals for gawds sake. Once Mr Singstar, upstairs, realised fame had just been a one off, his music soon quietened back down again to a more normal volume and we settled down to watch our movie with our pretzels.