In my undergraduate years we had lab practicals in the afternoons, where 40 or so of us second years would gather together in some big old labs and perform the basic but new to us experiments that would start us down the path to noble prizes and professordom. Well, I guess they can´t win them all.
These practicals were run by a staff member, a lovely bearded man in his mid-40´s, who would stand up the front with a microphone and small speaker so that those at the distant back of the lab could hear him. I came to the conclusion that these moments were for him the most joyful part of the job. He´d appear out of the preparation room and smack the speaker down on the bench, twiddling with the knobs until it was tweaked to his satisfaction. He´d then grab the microphone, hoisting it in his hand and rearranging his grip while briefly clearing his throat.
Every time I expected him to leap on the bench in front of him, legs braced, arms outstretched, face lifted to the sky as he belted out the first lyrics to “New York, New York”.
Every time I was disappointed.
But I am still a firm believer that, hidden not far beneath the surface, this man was a lounge singer at heart.
Last Saturday I found my inner lounge singer.
Eat your heart out Lisa Stansfield. I WAS around the world.
And I will be there again. Oh yes. I will. There´s no holding me back now. The only way is up. Baby.
The next german Popstar is coming.