Down Stevenage High Street on St Patrick’s Day.

We don’t have a large Irish community here. But I was bored. There was nothing in TV.

Not much to see really. Some drunken Irish people being drunken and Irish. Pretty much as expected. Being 50 percent Irish felt duty bound to join in.

It was a pretty good evening. I made some new “friends for life”, who’s faces and names have now faded from memory. Actually I’m not sure that there ever was a memory. I’d had few drinks.

Two things I do remember. One is, I smoked a cigarette. I am very annoyed with myself. This is the first time I have smoked since before Christmas. Too much alcohol and my will power vanishes like politicians from parliament when gravy train halts.

The second thing I remember, but wished I didn’t, is I sang Karaoke. I hate Karaoke with a passion. It’s tolerable if the singer can sing, but when someone can’t, it’s torture.

My friends find the singing out of tune funny. Apparently it’s all part of being a sport. I disagree heartily. Singing out of tune in public should be the next freedom to be curtailed in the name of The War on Terror, or whatever excuse they are using this week.

Let me make this crystal clear, if you stand up and murder a song I love, then I’m going to murder you. It really is that simple – and your kids – and anyone you smiled at in the last 24 hours.

Not surprisingly no one ever invites me along to Karaoke evenings, which is just fine with me.

But on Tuesday night after too many Guinness, I was up and murdering songs with the best of them. I actually enjoyed it, although I doubt if any one else did.

I enjoyed Karaoke? I must have had way too much to drink. But as I said at the time, “Ish traditional.”

So that’s OK then.

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