“Like a vurgin,” croons Mrs Short Tony. “Touched for the very first time.”

I realise through a swamp of beer that if I am to be part of the new youth web 2.0 generation, I ought to be recording such behaviour on my mobile phone.

I have never done this before. I look at the buttons on the phone. There is no button that is specifically for making recordings of singing next-door neighbours. I frown.

“Like a vur-ur-ur-urrrrr-gin…”

If I am not able to work this out quickly then I will miss the performance. What’s more, Mrs Big A and her fit cousin are now doing a little dance. There is no point whatsoever in having movie making apparatus to hand on one’s phone if one is not going to make a film of Mrs Big A and her fit cousin doing a little dance whilst Mrs Short Tony sings ‘Like a Vurgin’.

“When your heart beeeats. Next. To mine.”

I look around for Narcoleptic Dave in order to ask him, but he went to bed after the New Year bongs. There is a menu system on the phone. I scroll through the options one by one. Short Tony looks on in a kind of horrified fascination.

“Like a vur-gin.”

I locate the appropriate option on the menu. I then find a sub-menu which asks me what sort of picture I want to take.

“Touched for the very first time.”

The image on the screen is rubbish. Mrs Short Tony is standing right in front of some lights. All I can see is a Mrs Short Tony-shaped silhouette waving a karaoke microphone around in semi-darkness. Mrs Big A and her fit cousin-shaped silhouettes drift in and out of the picture. It is like the opening credits to a James Bond film.

I press ‘record’ anyway. I will make it available to Albert R Broccoli for his next production if required (nb to Albert R Broccoli, if you are finding this via Google it would make sense to call the next film ‘Like a Vurgin’ as it would save on the sound overdub and you could spend the money on more explosions (nb I noticed you couldn’t afford many in the new film and had to put in loads of talking instead so please do consider it)).

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