Wednesday, February 01, 2012

train commentators and karaokegate

It's amazing what a sprightly train driver can do for a journey.

There I was, last train home after visiting my aunt in hospital, followed by more drinking in Belgravia with my European colleagues, (posh gin and tonics. With grapefruit slices in them, in case you're wondering).

Not completely shitfaced this time, more Sensible Drunk. (Which is kind of right on target for the sweet spot. Drunk but not stupid. This is what you should aim for at 31.)For the first time this week, I actually got it right.

Anyway two things happened, worthy of description.

The first was mortifying. The second was just funny.

The Europeans are over for a conference this week, and so mass binge drinking ensued. As I've become known as the bitch who sings Usher's Love In This Club and this unfortunate infamy is now turning into tradition, I eventually took up the offer of the mic (again, was Sensible Drunk, so I [uncharacteristically] needed a lot of coercion).

So, office karaoke. Not a good springboard for one's career, sure. Except if you're singing in a whole group, everyone's festive - from the MD down to the trainee assistant - everyone's voices blend together and it's all a bit of comaraderie and fun.

Then there's what happened to me. I was singing away in the group, alongside She Who Loves Tweed, giving it some real horns. You know, really accentuating the magical words, I wanna make love in dis dis club,, while putting on my best RnB gangsta voice for prize lines like, I wanna bag you like some groceries...on the floor, on the couch...on the table...I'm watcha you want, whatcha need....

I was singing into this yellow microphone, Tweedy next to me was singing into a red one.

After the song was finished, high fived and started strolling to the bar.

When, "Dude. Do you realise that your voice was coming through the rest of the building."

Peas: No, what are you talking about?

Group of people: "Dude. That microphone you were signing on? Is tuned so that your voice gets relayed to speakers beyond this room. So down there, reception area, the meeting rooms..."

Peas: I don't think I quite understand. My voice, singing by itself? Across the entire building? [squeaking]...while singing about shagging in a club?

Group: Yup. Your lines making love song, interrupted an important conversation all the exces were having down there.

Peas:...And no-one else's were heard?! Could they hear the music or just my voice?!

Group: Just your voice.

So yeah. That was fucking mortifying.

Had a drown my embarrassment somewhat, and then headed home on the last train, where I think the train driver was drunk.

Luckily, rails force the wheels to literally stay on track, but it was his awesome approach to the announcements that I loved. And he was very posh.

"Lllllllllladies and gentlemen. Welcome aboard my train! Hurry up and get inside, stop jamming up the platform. Get inside and come with me to....East Croydon! Via....Norbury!"

He kept going throughout the duration of my journey:

"Llllladies and gentlemen! We are approaching...Battersea Park! Home to the dogs and cats home and ....Battersea Park! If you get off, mind the platform. Or don't Because I don't care!"

"Lllllladies and gentlemen! Let's get going and get to East Croydon! Stop scooting, or is that skating? On the platform! It's unsightly and dangerous! But mostly unsightly!"

When I got out, I went to his window and gave him a thumbs up. He looked like he was 18. So clearly practicing for his career in the West End.

Now to deal with Bridget Jones Karaoke Fuck Upgate.


Flarkit said...

Are you kidding???!!! They're going to give you a promotion because you have publicity-gnads-of-titanium! You're fearless in their eyes.... unless they're a bunch of knotted-up conservies with undies knotted up around their midriffs, holding all the knotted-up stress in a big fat knot. If they can't appreciate the chutzpahzitude, you know what to tell em, right? Am I right?

Peas on Toast said...

Flarkit - if only you were my boss. Oh my God that would be freakin' amazeballs.
They're not grey bureacrats by any measure, but I'm not sure if they liked my solo across all the office floors.

Just keeping a low pro. And nursing my gonads of steel.

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