Don't Get Me Started On: My Singing Voice

Don't get me started on my singing voice.

Let's be honest, when Freddie Mercury is blasting out of my stereo system and I'm belting along to Bohemian Rhapsody, I sound good. Like, damn good. It's often at these moments in time that I wonder why I never considered a career in music, as I am quite clearly depriving the world of the next true songbird of our generation.

Cue the flash-forward to some dingy karaoke bar, multiple drinks have warmed my throat (and my confidence), as is needed for any true artist to perform, and on to the stage I charge, microphone at the ready, prepared to pour my heart and soul into the Black Eyed Peas' "Where is the Love', a true classic. The lights dim, the crowd hushes, collective breathes around the room are drawn as people realize the gravity of the situation: this is a big song, and only a big singer could pull this off. The silence is deafening, the microphone heavy in my hands, and my heart does cartwheels around my chest, probably trying in vain to throw my balance off in the hope that the rest of my body would follow it off the stage to save myself the immense embarrassment that is undoubtedly going to ensue.

What comes next can only be described as the sound of a Nazgul stubbing its ugly-ass toe on its coffee table in Mordor, while simultaneously trying its best to stifle a massive sneeze. Why do I sound so good in the shower, even better when singing along to music (admittedly only if it's loud enough to drown me out), yet when my time comes to shine I sound like a pig giving birth.

Clearly the musical gods were having a bit of a laugh when they made me: "Good ear for music? Sure, why not. Decent at any instrument he picks up? You got it. Singing voice that doesn't sound like a stabbed sea-otter? Hold my beer..."