Week thirty-six

I think I've mentioned before that I'm generally very considered with my introductions each week, wanting to engage people with some sort of witty repartee or hoping to draw on past experiences that relate to my weekly venture.  I'm amazed to say that so far I've not been stuck for words once, regardless of how good the week has been (I hasten to add that counting the bad weeks hasn't even reached a fifth finger). However this week has left me a little speechless.  Frustrated, for want of a better word as it was just a bit redundant.

Thats not to say I didn't have a good evening, because I did.  In fact, Raymund and I didn't stop laughing for the majority of the evening but we could have been sat in an empty room with no people and no furniture and we probably would have had the same night.

Before I paint the picture of our evening at the pub sing-a-long at The Golden Eagle on Marylebone Lane I must first tell you about where we went beforehand.  If you do ever venture to The Golden Eagle; don't let this review put you off,  you must have dinner at Le Relais de Venise or L'Entrecote as its more commonly known.  Well, as long as you can stand terribly rude and stuck-up French people who work there, then you should go.

L'Entrecote is a very clever restaurant with only one menu that never changes; a green salad with the most stupendous French dressing for starters, followed by delectable steak frites for main.  It costs £21 and is divine.  Some of the people who go there are a bit dry, sometimes you have to wait for ages for a table, its cramped and the manageress is vile, but its fabulous and so unfortunately, its reputation precedes itself.

Literally just over the road is The Golden Eagle where a friend had recommended I go for one of my things to do as three times a week they have a piano sing-a-long. Tony "Fingers" Pearson is on the keys at this charming little boozer that is completely unaffected by its lavish neighbouring businesses.    Tony is a rather timid and quaint man whose eccentricities seem to have been consumed by age.

Unfortunately for Raymund and I, the clientele were a bit ignorant of the whole concept of the evening and even with a bit of prodding would have been, I'm sure very lacklustre.  The problem was going on a Tuesday rather than at the end of the week.  The barmaid told me that there were no locals in and so made for a very slow evening, particularly when the punters were mostly American and French.

Nevertheless Raymund and I enjoyed the wistful but warm sounds of "Blackbird" by The Beatles and other British classics while we amused ourselves playing the "how many people can we spot that look like they've been in adverts game".  Punter number one - the half man half beast from the O2 adverts:

My favourite, punter number two - the man who sniffs a pen up his nose from the Vicks advert.  Its so him.  No really.  When I described it to him, there was no real way to make it sound like a compliment. Oh well.

I was all ready to burst into song that night but unfortunately for me Tony doesn't lead the singing, he merely elicits.  I was certainly not foolish enough to try and rouse a hearty interest so I left a little disappointed but I get the feeling that on a Thursday or Friday and with some loud-mouth locals the scene would be very different.  The fact that its 3 times a week tells me its definitely worth a look in.

For week 37 I'm taking part in Sofar Sounds, where you go and see a band in someone's living room.  I hope I don't have to make a quick exit.