Sunday, September 27, 2009

Play stopped by rain: A washed out Manhattan Sunday

Today was to be the perfect Manhattan Sunday: L & I were going to hit the Brooklyn Flea market in DUMBO, after which I planned to walk around Park Slope & Prospect Park to research a piece before walking my bags over to the apartment I'm moving to for the next few days.

I have woken up at the ludicrous time of 6am to leaden skies and drizzle. It's been raining all night, and I think it's fair to say that autumn is now officially here and, with it, the cancellation of all my carefully laid plans. Open air flea markets, whether or not they have a Rain or Shine policy are not much fun in the rain, and dragging my wheelie suitcase through the puddles is a no-no.

So it looks like this will be a writing Sunday instead which is no bad thing, as yesterday was a non-starter owing to a slightly too enthusiastic Friday night out.

We had thought to start off with drinks & snacks at the lovely bar at Bobo in the West Village but there was standing room only, so we re-directed to the distinctly less glamorous sports bar opposite to catch the end of the Yankees vs Red Socks game (them not me), and eat some stomach lining fried food.

I also may have drunk two frozen raspberry margaritas. Like most English people in New York, I am endlessly fascinated by these icy Slush Puppies, which my Americans friends think are the height of naff.

Then we sloped off to Soho House. I was all for the squishy sofas inside but Z, fresh from London, was seduced by the fresh air and twinkly lights of the Manhattan panorama up on the Roof. So fresh that the shivering staff brought us fleecey blankets to curl up in on the sofas. More margaritas, these ones spiked with coriander (cilantro) & chili went a long way to keeping out the cold.

Some hours later, we ended up at Happy Ending on the Lower East Side where, in this former massage parlour turned club, we bounced around and drank beers.

And yesterday, well, yesterday I napped, ate, napped and ate.

Note to self: three margaritas good. Five margaritas bad.