"SHOW me the way to Amarillo." I must have heard that song at least 12,000 times on Saturday afternoon, at my daughters' joint birthday party.

They even had me singing along, which is most unusual because I sound like a screech owl stuck in a drainpipe.

Yet despite my self-consciousness (even among a group of seven and nine-year-olds), I enjoyed my many duets with Tony Christie. I felt uplifted and strangely relaxed as I joined in the chorus with the kids.

Singing is said to make people happy. Studies show that singers release endorphins, the hormones more commonly associated with more energetic activities such as sport and sex.

It can bring on a feeling of well-being and is being used more and more as a therapeutic technique to stimulate the brain in the treatment of certain medical conditions. And it is also said to stave off ageing because of the increased use of facial muscles.

All those benefits - and it's so easy to do. You can have a good old sing-song anywhere. In the shower or bath, at the kitchen sink, driving the car. You can belt out a few numbers and give yourself an instant buzz.

No wonder people flock to these special Sound Of Music conventions, or pile into late-night screenings of the Rocky Horror Show. I'm sure I'm not the only one who finds it hard to watch the Sound of Music without feeling the urge to sing. I can picture myself at 80 (disturbing though that image is), sitting in the local day centre at Christmas, in front of the wide-screen TV, croaking along to "I am 16 going on 17."

People are latching on to the benefits of singing to such an extent that they are forking out large sums of money to take part in one-off musicals such as Mamma Mia!, the Abba-inspired show, under the direction of theatrical professionals.

I fancy that. My big chance. Someone out there may like my voice. Some hot-shot talent spotter may see potential in a cross between Kate Bush and the mating cries of an alley cat.

I fancy a part in On The Town or White Christmas. I would like to have crooned alongside Frank Sinatra or Bing Crosby. And I would have loved to have been picked to play Dorothy in the Wizard Of Oz.

It'll never happen. I'm 44 and I'm realistic enough to know that. Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby are playing to the great big audience in the sky, and there could never be another Dorothy like Judy Garland.

There's only one thing for it. Karaoke. I didn't think I'd ever go down that road. For one thing I'm not a fan of My Way or I Will Survive and, at risk of sounding like a raging snob, I'm totally allergic to any pub that stages it as a form of entertainment. But, with my new-found appetite for singing I'm up for it.

I'm willing to head out on a Friday night and stand up in front of a crowd of drunken lads and belt out Like A Virgin or I Should Be So Lucky. I'm sure they would appreciate it.

And you never know where it may lead. Most likely to an empty pub, but if it makes me feel great, look good, and get a high without the use of drugs, I'm there.

Updated: 09:09 Tuesday, May 17, 2005