Underneath a dodgy pub in a council estate in west London is not my usual domain, but I was very excited about visiting Heron, a so utterly authentic Thai eaterie that the menu is not printed in English. We were taken there by a friend who had been there before with someone from Thailand who had kindly translated the menu for him and I left William to do the ordering on the basis of his previous visit.

When the first dish to arrive was a plate of crispy fried duck’s tongues, I knew this was no fish cake and green chicken curry kind of place. Utterly delicious salads and stir-fries came and went, spiked with every kind of chilli imaginable rendering each of us at some stage gasping, choking or crying yet curiously, we carried on devouring the stuff.

The place was full of young Thai customers and on the walls were screens showing what I presume is Bangkok’s version of MTV with their pop songs being subtitled and I soon found out why. Unlike your Japanese variety, Thai karaoke doesn’t require you to get on a stage. Here, they bring a microphone to your table and you sing in your seat. So much more civilised.

Driven by what I must presume be a chilli—spiked endorphin rush, I decided to have a go and I was so completely, utterly rubbish that the manager stepped in and changed the Thai song to one by Adele, which I coped with marginally better though I was ashamed that the brash authenticity of the place had been compromised by my performance. Thai folk are too polite – they should have laughed me out of there.

I hope they don’t compromise on karaoke again because next it will be mild dishes and then, heaven forbid, cutlery.