Growing up in Ireland, like every other wee girl, I dreamed of the spotlight. I stood in front of the mirror with my hairbrush and practiced all my dance moves. I truly believed I was going to be the next Kylie or Britney. However, as we all know, life has this strange habit of turning out differently. I didn’t turn out to be the superstar I deserved to be, but recently, thanks to Captain Morgan (a close friend of mine) I was given my big break. I hadn’t been in Darwin long, and I was still getting used to the heat and the strange effect it had when mixed with alcohol. Combine these factors with my birthday, and there was never any doubt that it was going to be an interesting night. Shenannigans Bar in Darwin, a Sunday night, a live band and a drunken Irish birthday girl. Sounds like the start of a joke. The bar was crowded, and I owned the dance floor, but it was not enough. I danced my way towards the stage and I caught the lead singer’s attention. Well, I pulled his leg. He knelt down and I whispered into his ear, he smiled and I danced off. As the next song was being introduced he wished me a “happy birthday” and dedicated this song to me. I stood in the centre of the dance floor and listened to my song. I received smiles and birthday wishes from everyone, but when the song finished I still wasn’t pleased. I wanted to hear a different song so I once again made my way towards the stage. Another little whisper in the singer’s ear and back again to the centre of the dance floor. I waited and waited. After three songs and lots of winks and arm gestures towards the band, still no Shakira. A much sterner whisper would be needed. So, for the third time I made my way towards the stage, only this time the singer did not bend down to greet me. Instead just his arm was outstretched. I grabbed it, and next thing I know I was being dragged up onto the stage. The band started playing a song I did not recognise and the lead singer handed me a second microphone. As the song went on I began to recognise it and joined in. “Can’t start a fire without a spark.” I raised my voice and took a step forward. “This gun’s for hire.” I threw my free arm up in the air and encouraged the crowd to join in. “Even if we’re just dancing in the dark.” The crowd were jumping up and down cheering me on. This is what it felt like to be a famous singer. The song came to an end. I looked at my adoring fans and their smiling faces, then I roared into the microphone “happy birthday to me!” The next morning I woke up with my head at the bottom of the bed, using my shoes as pillows. To put it mildly, I was feeling a little worse for wear. It felt like there was a rock concert in my head, maybe a duet with Captain Morgan and Jack Daniels. After trying to piece together the night before, I got the courage to get out of bed. As I was making my way down the stairs, I heard what could only be described as horrible noise coming from the kitchen. It sounded like a wrestling match between a pig and cat. By the time I got to the end of the stairs the tune became a little clearer, and the memories came flooding back to my already sick head. There was my boyfriend looking at his camera, laughing like a hyena. “How’s the boss?” he joked. I filled a glass of water, went back to bed and retired gracefully from the music industry.