...said Morrisey, except I'm blimmin' grateful for it myself. What a weekend of random musicality I've had. On Friday night, Nice Man and I went to a nearby community hall to watch our friends and compatriots do Neil Diamond covers. It was surprisingly good. Nice Man's landlord, aka Eugene Kelly (once of The Vaselines) sang Girl, You'll be a Woman Soon with just the right baritone. Stuart put on a bowl-cut Monkees wig and belted out I'm a Believer and everyone was dancing about with stupid grins on. There were loads more talented, pretty girls singing, whose names I don't yet know. With the look and feel of the old hall, you could have thought you'd accidentally fallen into the 60's.
On Sunday night, we got invited to Eddi Reader's house-warming party. More singing people who are effortlessly talented! Where do they come from? They just whipped out their fiddles and acoustic guitars and flew through gorgeous covers of Joni Mitchell, Patsy Cline, Bruce Springsteen and a few speedy jigs.
Most of the room was joining in and I had to mouth my vocals softly, for on several occasions, Nice Man has diagnosed me as being 'atonal' beyond rescue. He is correct, of course. But my enthusiasm - where can that go?! It needs an outlet. Even a whispery, tone-deaf outlet. Before we left for home, I picked up a wee ukulele and strummed along for a few chords. They may not have been the right chords, but as chords go, they were lovely enough.