Now, you are quite possibly wondering how I was able to conjur up an album of choice, just like that.
Before Christmas, I overheard Grandpa telling the children that he was getting Grandma a Juke Box. I have to say I was not best pleased. Not least of all by him getting it in through the back door, so to speak, by involving our young people. Where was the bloody thing going to hang? It's just not that sort of house, you understand. I am a woman of refinement and taste. An aesthete, no less. A Juke Box fun, though it might be, would look completely out of place. A small box arrived. It contained a compact device called Electric Jukebox. It fits at the back of your television, takes a couple of minutes to set up and plays through your TV. You have millions of songs you can call up either by voice command or using the keyboard. Even then I was sceptical. It didn't seem to respond to my voice when I spoke into the microphone.
"You hold it in front of your mouth, Mum, not like you're doing Karaoke!"
Isn't it strange how young males assume that if not hard of hearing, you are certainly hard of understanding?
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