Right, before those of you that know me start piping up with ‘you don’t even live in London’, let’s throw some light (literally would be ideal) on my current hometown- Manchester. Sure, I’m probably a little too partial to nights in, welded to the sofa infront of our dinky little fake fire watching terrible Christmas films, but I go out. I do. Maybe even weekly. Gone are the days of sweaty club hopping, and in its place are little gold mines like this one.
Crazy Wendy’s. Some might say I’ve matured into a connoisseur of eclectic nightlife. Others might question my definition of a good time. Whichever camp you fall into, this is a comedy night for anyone and everyone. A deposit of £5 per person (taken off your bill at the end of the night) will get you a table in what appears to be an over-crowded, slightly anti-climatic Thai restaurant with a remarkable array of tableware (read: rice served in miniature cauldrons, trophy cups and pretty much anything else that turned up in the kitchen). Hang about. Order another beer and try to be open minded. The excessively loud 80’s music and continuous arrival of dishes from the never-ending set menu (in which you have fairly little choice) suddenly becomes amusing. So does the increasing vigour with which the microphone gets haphazardly passed from table to table. Oh, it’s a karaoke bar by the way. Diners become noticeably drunker, and significantly bolder with the microphone. During my visit, the neighbouring ‘Manchester vending machine company’ christmas party began, one by one, to stand on the table in order to batter a series of Queen hits to a pulp. This was openly encouraged by the staff- who subsequently cleared away the food and rearranged the tables to create platforms for willing singers. The karaoke alone was entertainment enough, but just you wait. The main purpose of our trip to this highly regarded little restaurant was yet to come.
With almost no warning, the lights were dimmed. From the kitchen (where she has previously been working as part of the kitchen staff) emerged a minuscule, sequin-drenched Asian lady, dressed as Shirley Bassey. Carried from table top to table top by a particularly dedicated member of the front of house staff, Crazy Wendy bellowed out the greatest hits of Elvis Presley, cheered on by the now-paralytic members of the Manc Vending Co. All guests were dancing on tables, with long ago desensitised staff members darting around catching falling glasses. Health and Safety was out the window, sure. The night turned into one of the funniest and most bizarre karaoke-cum-all-you-can-eat-Thai-buffet experiences of my life. Well, the only one. By the time we (my speechless and slightly intimidated boyfriend and I) left, around a hundred people were packed into the tiny little restaurant, dancing on the tables arm in arm as Crazy Wendy sidled through the crowds performing what could easily be described as both the best and worst tribute to Elvis Presley the world has ever seen.
So, friends, if you’re looking for a hilarious night out for a friend’s birthday, a staff party, or just a great excuse to get silly drunk and exhibit your vocal skills, then look no further. Book well in advance (we got the last, possibly makeshift, table in the house with 8 days notice), and expect to pay £25 pp for food. Wendy performs on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights- although the website claims the restaurant is also ‘the perfect place for a quiet mid-week meal’. Don’t hold me to that.
West Didsbury (30 minute bus journey from Manchester Piccadilly), 0161 4455200.
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