‘O.M.G. It’s Spindle karaoke night!’ Oh shit.

Up to that point I had happily managed to hang on to my karaoke cherry; I was saving myself for the seventh circle of Hell, so the idea of subjecting a crowd to an off key rendition of Journey, the likes of which is usually reserved for the out takes of the X Factor (because let’s face it: at some point laughing at the seriously mentally deficient and self deluded crosses that line of being not actually O.K… Right?) was less than thrilling. Mr Tom Dearnley-Davison, on the other hand, had moves planned to ‘Vogue’ that would make Lady Madge herself blush. Military precision, Madgers.

Panic struck (harder) when I tramped the red carpet and walked smack into the big screen displaying pictures of other enthusiastic karaoke-ers and faced the prospect of my own gaping jaw and double chin potentially being displayed for the next wave of buzz seekers hit me. It was only after we’d all got suitably smashed on the free Bux Fizz (Iceland’s own version, as sponsored by Kerry Katona while on the lash) that I was told it’s actually a private room set up and our sing-a-long would be conducted in the privacy of our own room. Marvellous.

And then everything changed.

Stepping up to accompany Our Good Lady Editor in a rendition of the Spice Girls’ ‘Stop’ I finally realised the power of having an audience. Suddenly the wonder of karaoke became clear. No longer just a tacky activity participated in by people wearing pink feather boas and cowboy hats during hen nights, I could finally understand the karaoke veterans who swagger up to the stage, with a knowing look in their eyes, to polite applause and command the stage with all the lust of an unfulfilled X Factor dream. I was one of them. No, I was better. But most importantly, I was doing it only for my friends in the privacy of our own room. Skipping out to the toilets, I’d get washed over by reality and those pesky accompanying emotions of self consciousness and disdain. Feeling shaken and slightly nauseous, I would stagger back into the booth and the security of my fellow karaoke-ers. Then Dearnley-Davison started his, frankly hauntingly beautiful, rendition of Whitney Houston’s ‘I Will Always Love You’ and everything became OK. Huddled in a group hug, we belted out the lyrics in accompaniment and swayed along with tears in our eyes. Sceptic no more, I heart karaoke!

I hate myself.