Barry Manilow - Odo Know Better.

One was reclining on the chaise in the Doctor Christian Room last Friday, while indulging in a small plate of Mediterranean nibbles and a glass of chilled Pere Ventura Cava.

The television was on in the background but one was not paying a great deal of attention to it. One’s pussy, Crotchet, had decided to have a mad half-hour with a paperclip he had came across on the parquet flooring; watching him spring forward with this paws pushed together and outstretched and jumping somersaults around the room had proved far more interesting than what our broadcasters had to offer. Indeed, an extended broadcast of Wimbledon had caused havoc with one’s Friday routine of titterlicious comedy programmes.

Anyhoo … A momentary distraction drew one away from one’s feline fascination when one heard rapturous applause. Looking up, one saw that an episode of Star Trek was on. Police constable Odo was singing Karaoke in the bar on Deep Space 9. He’d dispensed with the slicked back hair and had gone for a much softer style with highlights. It was certainly less severe but one couldn’t help thinking it was highly unusual for the character to be performing in such a flamboyant manner; he was usually so reserved.

Barry Manilow

Curious to see the synopsis of the episode one found oneself pressing the information button on one’s remote. One squealed with surprise when one discovered one was, in fact, watching Paul O’Grady Live … and it was not the interstellar changeling,Odo, as one had thought but , in actual fact, Barry Manilow!

At first one couldn’t believe it, however, looking at the dancing technique with the Big Bird-esque legs and the shipyard constructed shoes, one soon realised it was indeed the velvety-voiced, Copacabanial poppet.

Odo

(oh dear, do you know, one's not

quite sure now!)

Sitting on the guests sofa, he turned frequently to talk to the host – Paul O’Grady – and as he did so one moved closer to the screen to see if one could catch a glimpse of a bulldog clip clamped onto the back of his neck, but there was no evidence to support one’s suspicions. Something must have happened for him to, seemingly, have the need to put so much effort into blinking his eye-lids. And when he sang a line that required lipular rounding, the words tried their utmost to tease his lips into movement but one was on the edge of one's chaise expecting his cheeks to split open like the knicker elastic around a fat man’s thigh.

One’s faithful houseboy entered the room at that point, exhausted after watching one of his specialist nature DVDs in his quarters – ‘Dirty Mares In The Paddock II’ (something about horses, one imagines) - and declared Mr. Manilow had had a facelift.

“Goodness, dear, one’s never seen Clingfilm pulled that tight …let alone skin!” (Yes, one knows one rarely cooks oneself, but one does occasionally stretch a piece across the household staff’s toilet bowl for a bit of a giggle.)

One honestly does not know why people do it! … And do you know, poppets, one is convinced every time he closed his mouth one saw his toes curl up!