“I got a song stuck in my head,” My Darling B said the other day.

“Yeah, me too,” I said. “You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”

She chuckled at that. “Really?”

“It’ll be okay,” I assured her. “Mine is one you like.”

“Okay,” she said, sounding rather unsure, “if you say so,” and then she started humming Oh, What A Night, arguably the worst pop song ever conceived by the English-speaking people.

“That’s pretty awful,” I said, once she’d unloaded that particularly ugly bit of mental baggage. “Here’s mine, then – ” I started to sing Think Of Me from “Phantom Of The Opera.” She joined in at about the third or fourth word and we howled the rest of it together.

Earworms: Sometimes you just gotta dig them out and strangle the shit out of them or they’ll ruin your whole day.