I believe I can fly
An innocent click on a link and a recommendation on The Search for Love in Manhattan, and I discovered Wing. Wing is a singer from New Zealand (via Hong Kong). Wing knows absolutely no sense of shame, for which I can only show unconditional admiration.
True, the copy on her website says she performes mainly in rest homes and hospitals (a captive audience if there ever was one). But still, the lady's got guts.
I last did something this ballsy when I was fourteen and I forced my mother to sit through my rendition of a song that I wanted to use for my audition for the Castrocaro talent festival.
When I asked her for her opinion she was speechless, and not in a positive way. At the time I thought perhaps my singing technique was possibly not up to scratch (well no, it was not). Or that maybe I'd picked the wrong song for my temperament and artistic pathos (I had).
With hindsight, I realise that it might have been the gayest moment in my life, and I was insensitively rubbing my mother's nose in it. I mean, I was wearing a t-shirt with sequins that I had hand-sewn on it for the occasion.
Needless to say, I was not given permission to travel to the open auditions, and the episode was shamefully swept under the carpet and never mentioned again.
So Wing, you go girl. You carry Florence Foster Jenkins's torch into the twenty-first century, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
I think Wing might have mailed it herself. I am keeping the envelope, it might be worth a fortune on eBay one day.