I’d probably been seeing this girl for long enough to call her my girlfriend. It didn’t seem all that serious but I’d been catching up with her three or four times a week. We had a pretty heated argument a couple of months in; to be honest, I can’t even remember what it was about. I phoned her a few days later to apologise – I just couldn’t be bothered fighting any longer. I invited her out for a night of karaoke to smooth things over. I’ve never been a fan of singing in public, but she absolutely loves it; plus, the owner of the place I had in mind lets you smoke inside the rooms. I sat sipping scotch while she went through her repertoire of songs; she’s actually really good. After an hour or so I offered to do a number myself – she’d never heard me sing before. I selected the track E24 on the dated computer system – Queen: ‘I want to break free.’ She heard the first line of the song, dropped her drink, and ran from the room crying. I had no idea what was going on. I’m not even that bad a singer. I spent the next two weeks trying to get in contact with her. She refused to answer my calls, her friends ignored my pleas, and her work had me barred from the premises. I bumped into her a year or so later; she had finally settled down enough to talk about the ordeal. She thought I’d intentionally organised a situation in which I could subject her to a song about moving on. I just really like Freddy Mercury – I thought the song was about coming out.