Sunday, August 10, 2008

T Party

This weekend has been Tinsetroos Birthday Festival. She began the celebration on Thursday with dinner with her folks whilst I was at home with the flat to myself wrapping her presents. The main social event was karaoke on Friday night. Everyone knows that T likes to sing and so twelve of us packed into a wee room at Cousin Jills to belt out a few standards.

In a slight break with tradition I opted to sing Money for Nothing rather than my usual Johnny Cash numbers as I felt me and Mr Knopfler have similar vocal range (not a lot). I didn't manage the Sting parts though as they well beyond my limited range. I was quite pleased with my "Hoola moola that's the way you do, money for nothing and your chicks for free" complete with hint of geordie accent. As is traditional there was also a rendition of Guns Don't Kill People, Rappers Do with highly exaggerated welsh accents later on. T and her school-chum KG put everyone else to shame by actually being able to sing really well. It took a collective chorus of Europe's The Final Countdown to takes us back to the ridiculous from the sublime. This part of the evening is immortalised on video though I don't think it's really suitable for public consumption. It does prove that we'd all drunk a lot more than I remember though. Further evidence for this may be viewed below:

Tinseltroos' Birthday Karaoke

Tinseltroos' Birthday Karaoke

Tinseltroos' Birthday Karaoke

Tinseltroos' Birthday Karaoke

Tinseltroos' Birthday Karaoke

Tinseltroos' Birthday Karaoke

Tinseltroos' Birthday Karaoke

Yesterday T opened her presents from me which included some crazy Japanese socks, a T-shirt I designed and printed for her, Guitar Hero - Aerosmith, and a few other treats. The weather was filthy all day so we only went out for brunch and then scuttled back to Schossadlerflug until the evening when we got all dressed up and went out for dinner to Rasoi Vineet Bhatia which is a superb Indian restaurant in Mayfair. It was astonishingly good, certainly in my top ten meals I've had. Amongst the delights I had included tandoori salmon, minted chicken, duck confit with a coconut sauce and a, and this is no lie, fois gras crême brulée which was barmy but brilliant. Two and half happy hours later we rolled out back into the night and made our way home holding our contented fat bellies.

Today we've bummed around the flat as, once again, the weather has been shitty all day. As I write this T is shredding on Guitar Hero and showing Joe Perry and Brad Whitford how it's done. Metaaaaaaal!

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Blogger booda baby said...

What an excellent birthday!! When will it be over?

It's a mystery why karoake's so much fun but it is, and that's it. Did you all karoake Happy Birthday? Nothing like an orchestra backing you. I love Happy Birthday. Wait a second.

There. Sung.

Can you tell me please where the Indian joint is? Even though I haven't been for awhile, peeps close to me still go and meet in London and although the tradition of drinks at the Lanesborough and food stuff at that Thai place on Beauchamp's (sp?) is very nice ... please. That habit needs breaking.
(Although fois gras creme brulee sounds AWFULLY like fruit carpaccio.)

9:04 pm  
Blogger Mr Atrocity said...

Booda Baby, the restaurant in question is Rasoi Vineet Bhatia in Chelsea. It was pretty pricey but amazing. The fois gras thing really was a crême brulée with fois gras mixed into it, burned sugar on top and all. Incredible. Weird, but very good.

10:45 pm  
Blogger Churlita said...

I've never done karaoke. You'd think someone as obnoxious as me would do it every day.

Happy birthday to Tinsetroos. It looks as if you all did it justice.

7:18 pm  
Blogger booda baby said...

They invented Duuuude just for times like these. It LOOKS like a palace.

Thanks so much. Now everyone will think I know something. :)

You've never karaoked?!? Churlita! (Not that I've done a lot. Please. I care too much about my fellow human beings. A few cocktails, though, and I can too easily be persuaded to do Angel from Montgomery.) Eeek.

4:27 am  

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