Dream on.

Saturday April 21, 2018

As a little girl, I would enjoy singing popular songs to my Teddy, or my cat and dog. I can recall getting into the mood, pretending I was a famous singer.

Fast forward to the present day, not much has changed. The only difference is the choice of songs. I grew out of "They're Changing Guard at Buckingham Palace", and these days I perform for an audience of one - me.

I hasten to add I am not prancing around in front of a mirror, holding a hairbrush as a mike. God, that would be seriously sad, wouldn't it?

No, it is all going on inside my head. Sometimes when I am walking outdoors, to pass the time I will drift off, but it usually happens when I'm on my cross country running machine. On goes Spotify or You Tube, and before you know it I am up there on that stage, with a rapturous audience. Occasionally, it is not a live audience, if for example, I am appearing on Old Grey Whistle Test.

I can be either sex vocally, but visually remain female. That said, I do some tweaks. My Elvis (black leather era) looks like a blonde K.D.Laing. I have taken to dithering about what I should wear for a performance, much as I do in real life before I go out. Sometimes physical changes are called for. In order to do justice to the purple satin gown I wear for performing Dvorak's Song to the Moon at the Proms, I have to fill out a bit on top.

I baulked at Meatloaf, but I can do a pretty raunchy Cher when tackling Dead Ringer for Love.

Occasionally I prefer to remain in the background, providing backing vocals for the likes of Aretha Franklin, Stevie Wonder and Amy Winehouse.

There's no mystery about the basis of my fantasy life. If I could choose one gift to have been born with it would have been the gift of music, whether singing beautifully or playing a musical instrument.

My choice of instrument is nearly always the guitar, except when playing accordion with Ry Cooder.

Sadly, I can't sing a note, and could not even master the recorder at school.

I have never heard anyone else admit to such daydreams. The closest involved a few men, scoring the winning goal as the crowd goes mad with joy.

I am beginning to wonder if this is getting out of control. Last weekend I was the entire Russian Red army choir, and their soloist, performing Kalinka. The Cossack dancing in the background nearly killed me.

You can be honest with me. Is this normal behaviour for an adult? Maybe you too have a secret life? Are you a star of stage or screen, or perhaps an Olympian Gold medallist?

I promise not to laugh. I mean, I'm hardly in a position to am I?

A Moodscope member.

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