Don't say that you love me!

Two years ago I was on a work trip to Alice Springs with Brett. We were at the end of the trip and had a few hours to kill before our flight home so we decided to have lunch - and a few refreshments - in a Todd Mall pub.

It was a typical bogan pub. You know the type. Populated by men in singlets, beer-soaked coasters, large screen tvs and racing flags on the wall.

As we dove headfirst into our drinks and a plate of something fried, the video clip for Fleetwood Mac's Tusk started playing on aforementioned big screen tv.

'Man, I LOVE this song!' Brett told me whilst pumping his arm. 'It's my favourite shagging song.'

Pardon?

Apparently Brett had a list of shagging songs. You know, songs that he likes to have playing when he's, erm, shagging. I had heard of playing music to get you in the mood, but songs to give you a good rhythm?

Whoever knew.

Tusk would be, I imagine, a difficult rhythym to sustain. It's a big song with a big sound - surely you feel compelled to perform? If there wasn't a grand crescendo reached, it could be a bit of a let down. You're trying to keep up with a marching band complete with drummers, baton twirlers and trojan hats, for goodness' sake.

Now, whenever I hear the opening beats of Tusk all I can think of is Brett pumping his arm suggestively. And as much as I adore the boy, it kind of creeps me out. Thinking about your friends in flagrante delicto is, well, a bit ergh.

Tom and I heard it whilst out in the car one day and I dissolved into giggles. Given that Brett introduced Tom and I, I couldn't help but tell him. His response?

'Oh, God! I just had a visual!'

Glad I wasn't the only one.