Singstar

The whole Loki family is currently beseiged by the supra-drug Singstar at the moment; a Burroughsian word virus of the worst kind. Burroughs was wrong when he said that drugs were the perfect product (and I was wrong about mobile phones): Singstar is the perfect prodict, nothing can resist it's evil gap-toothed charms. My usually Mao-frugal wife played a few games in the Xmas holidays at a relative's house and then insisted we buy it the first day we came home - see her now, wide-eyed and staring, mouthing wordless obscenities in the guise of Blur's 'Parklife' or Whitney's 'Greatest Love' or Black Sabbath's 'Paranoid'...then look in horror as you watch her suck the rest of the family in, one by one, drones to the karoake/s(t)ep(s)puku slaughter...

The whole family are at it, clambering around the mic, dancing like lunatics - even the normally reticent 9 and 15 year old are in on the act, churning out oddly fantastic versions of Imagine, Daydream Believer and Crazy In Love.

My Whitney's improving, my Depeche Mode is exemplary (though my six year old daughter has just beaten me by 50 lousy points, despite knowing only about nine of the words), my Madonna could use some work and my Rolling Stones puts the abyss into abyssmal but I'm going back in there in a minute for another go at that tricky Girls Aloud bridge, the whoo hoos in that Dandy Warhols song and that troublesome bit at the end of Annie's 'Heartbeat'...

Still, if anyone does Whitehouse's 'My Cock's On Fire' better than me I'll be very surprised. Come and have a go if you think yer hard enough...