Just because you have some sellotape on your fingers does not give you the right to parade around as a Michael Jackson impersonator.
I had decided to forgo watching my beloved Dublin football team play what turned out to be an absolute belter of a match against Mayo in order to see this cretin. I had hoped that he would be bad, that wasn’t the problem, the problem was that I showed up at 8pm and he came on after a bloke with glasses and a tracksuit who sang Bob Marley songs, at an unholy 11pm.
He was short and fat with greased back long hair tied into a ponytail. He had a hugely receding hairline. Then he put on a black hat and shades and began to screech Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’. It was ok. The Baker said a professional troupe of impersonators were in Dublin at the moment and perhaps he was one of them, then he failed to hit the high notes on Billie Jean and we said no way. Then at the end he said he was part of a professional troupe of impersonators who were in Dublin and I continued drinking the beers from a large ‘five beers in a bucket’ promotion the pub was doing. Middlebro kept shaking his head and saying it was wrong wrong wrong. He is a bit of a purist when it comes to music.
A lot of people then began grabbing their crotches and doing really bad dance moves. A group of badly dressed (meaning barely dressed) girls with extensions then chatted up the non-impersonator and the tracksuited singer and once again I wondered how people like that could score whilst I can’t.
Next morning I woke up in splendour in the guest FLOOR of Middlebro and The Baker’s new house and Middlebro knocked politely to tell me he was heading in for a beer poo but would do the fry up immediately afterwards.