Hang the DJ

*whrrrr * Alright, who spiked my apple & raspberry j2O?

I am not comfortable in pubs or clubs at the best of times. I think it's because I resent being reminded of the fact that I don't really like alcohol or the effects it can have on me. A bottle of mead at Christmas is normally my entire alcoholic consumption for the entire year (For a while I was known for just drinking blue vodka drinks although I always wished I liked beer so I could feel a bit less freaky). I usually just sit in a corner looking awkward, playing with placemats and trying my best to reply to the odd snatches of conversation that I can actually hear.

So my first night out to a club in a new town was always going to be daunting. Especially as it was to see my eldest daughter (9) take part in the junior category of a Carnival Queen competition.(She is surprisingly pretty in a gothy Wednesday Addams way but can't do the cheesy smile thing you need to do for these things, unfortunately).

But when she went off to be judged, my younger daughter (6) dragged me straight onto the dancefloor and started doing all her funky moves. She has limitless energy when it comes to dancing, the room was packed with young wannabe beauty queens and I was still in my coat as we were too late to grab seats. And I was to be the Big Floor Show Entertainment for the evening. To put it simply, I looked like a total veiny cockshaft. It was more cringy and toecurling than a Jim Davidson Boxed Set.

I am a bloke in my late 30s. When I get on a dancefloor I get an image of Ricky Gervais doing his David Brent dance pops into my head. So all the alarms are going off inside my brain and I can't do anything about it, my daughter is dancing like a demon and the DJ is a big,brainless wobblyarsed zombie.

Take a James Corden, the acceptable face of fat. Then cover him with several thick layers of lard or beef dripping. Work outwards so that his piggy features are lost in the middle of his great lardy face and his eyes resemble cats' arseholes buried in the snow. Then you have something that looks like the DJ we had.

Now don't think that I'm having a go at Fatboy Fat because he was grossly obese. No , the reason I am blogging this is to try and answer one of life's great unexplained questions: Why is always the same shit songs?

For someone to become a DJ, you would assume that they would enjoy music in some way. And there are millions of songs out there. Not all of them are suitable, granted, but a good percentage of them are songs that could be played in a room of mixed age people and get a good cross section of them gyrating.

I reckon these great fat lumbering subhuman bollockbrained DJs hate the rest of the human race so much they become DJs so they can make us all look like twats by dancing to utter pantgravy.

What else would explain the fact that it's ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS Agadoo, the Macarena, Hey Baby, the Cha Cha Slide, Mambo No 5, 5678, the Fuckawful Damian version of the Timewarp, Cotton Eye Joe and Y-M-C-fucking-A? We even had 'I am the Music Man' for fucks sake!! Noone likes these songs! Noone plays them at home! Why then, when we're all gathered together in a big room somewhere are we all meant to arse around going 'A Pizza Hut, A Pizza Hut, Kentucky Fried Chicken and A Pizza Hut'?


I don't get out much. It's probably just as well.