Guess That TV Theme Tune

Ah, the office party. Or rather, the Husband's office party.

Luckily I get on well with his work mates, and some of them are friends from his previous job, too. This was the very common office party - down the local hotel, ejected from the bar into the dining room by waiting staff from Eastern Europe wearing holly-sprig waistcoats, an hour and a half of good, but homogenous food and everyone trying to work out what they ordered, then a disco, karaoke and general fun and frolics.

At some point the boss will say how great everyone is. Someone will sob "I loooove yooooo," on someone's else's shoulder, a couple of people will play drunken jenga while a lone young man tries to work out how he ended up with a pint in each hand, and which one he should drink first.

I probably shouldn't have had the first glass of wine on top of the empty stomach and the threatening migraine, but hey, sometimes you've got to live dangerously. Suffice it to say I was remarkably inebriated on one and a bit glasses of shiraz, and stopped consuming alcohol before 10pm.

Nevertheless, the evening was a triumph.

Why?

Because of the "Guess that TV Theme Tune" game. At first it was a one-sided competition. Table one (suspiciously close to the DJ) snatched Dr Kildare, Dallas and Captain Scarlet. Then our table sprang into action. John* snatched victory from the jaws of defeat by knowing the theme to the A-team AND the names of all four main characters AND actors. Genius. The Husband proved a mis-spent youth by getting Hitch-Hikers Guide to the Galaxy in approximately two notes (and that's a HARD theme to get before the well-known riff cuts in). Table One retaliated with Firebird XL1, and everthing hung in the balance.

Then came my moment. The DJ wanted the programme, and the two actor's names. A staccato percussion line. Eighties synthesizer music. A fleeting memory of spinning rotors, desert sands, and an enigmatic, tortured male in mirrored shades.

I sprinted across the slippery dancefloor in high-heels, crinkle satin and black lace.

The answer?

Air Wolf. Jan Michael Vincent and Ernest Borgnine.

I so rule.

*the names have been changed to protect the humiliated