[Karan]: On Facebook this morning I was cordially invited by the RBS 6 Nations fan page, to try and win tickets for an upcoming match, by singing for my seat.
Those of you who know me, will know how much I just lurve my rugby - although who knew watching 30 enormous men in tiny shorts and tight shirts could be so engaging - or exhausting. A friend of mine once took me to see Northampton Saints, in the days when the very lovely Tim Rodber was playing, and I was thoroughly unprepared. Prior to the match all the players came out and Tim Rodber limbered up right in front of me, split his shorts with his huge muscular thighs, and I was in need of a lay down! So, even the most remote possibility of winning tickets to see our national squad - particularly the divine Jonny Wilkinson - is extremely tempting. However...
Those of you who know me are also aware that my singing voice leaves a lot to be desired: I sound like a bag of cats being slammed against a wall. It's sad but true. During our daughter's recent school concert, we parents were invited to sing along, and I now have camcorder evidence of my daughter frowning, waggling her finger and forbidding me from singing, and all from her elevated position on the stage! Other parents were smiling - knowingly - and assuring me it was for the best. You see, I used to sing to our daughter as we boogied around the lounge, in the days before she could walk or talk - escape in other words - so she knows you know.
I will therefore not be competing for tickets to a 6 Nations match. It did cross my mind that perhaps the worst singing would win the tickets but, knowing my luck, they'd play my rendition of Bat Out Of Hell over the tannoy during half time, and that's a 10 minute song! There'd be a stampede of 82,000 people with blood pouring from their ears, all thinking they'd gone deaf when the caterwauling finally stopped. So perhaps it really is for the best if I stay home to watch the match and sing the National Anthem in my head like I always do, and in accordance with my formal Cease and Desist Notice.
Those of you who know me, will know how much I just lurve my rugby - although who knew watching 30 enormous men in tiny shorts and tight shirts could be so engaging - or exhausting. A friend of mine once took me to see Northampton Saints, in the days when the very lovely Tim Rodber was playing, and I was thoroughly unprepared. Prior to the match all the players came out and Tim Rodber limbered up right in front of me, split his shorts with his huge muscular thighs, and I was in need of a lay down! So, even the most remote possibility of winning tickets to see our national squad - particularly the divine Jonny Wilkinson - is extremely tempting. However...
Those of you who know me are also aware that my singing voice leaves a lot to be desired: I sound like a bag of cats being slammed against a wall. It's sad but true. During our daughter's recent school concert, we parents were invited to sing along, and I now have camcorder evidence of my daughter frowning, waggling her finger and forbidding me from singing, and all from her elevated position on the stage! Other parents were smiling - knowingly - and assuring me it was for the best. You see, I used to sing to our daughter as we boogied around the lounge, in the days before she could walk or talk - escape in other words - so she knows you know.
I will therefore not be competing for tickets to a 6 Nations match. It did cross my mind that perhaps the worst singing would win the tickets but, knowing my luck, they'd play my rendition of Bat Out Of Hell over the tannoy during half time, and that's a 10 minute song! There'd be a stampede of 82,000 people with blood pouring from their ears, all thinking they'd gone deaf when the caterwauling finally stopped. So perhaps it really is for the best if I stay home to watch the match and sing the National Anthem in my head like I always do, and in accordance with my formal Cease and Desist Notice.
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