It’s snowing in New York.
We had a long day of meetings in the office today, starting at 9am and finishing about 5:30, after which I staggered around for a bit and then had to call San Francisco. So when we finally left the office at 7, I wanted to go back to the hotel and sleep, not have fun or socialise with people. I mean, it’s not like I couldn’t socialise with these people while they’re in London and New York and San Francisco, while I’m home in Singapore.
Oh hang on.
We went out to a bar nearby and as half the people had flown in that morning from the other side of the world, they weren’t drinking anything stronger than water, which made going to a bar seem like something of a waste of time. Never mind. We trundled over to the Bistro Incognito. This is a restaurant that serves Italian food. They were rather incognito in their description of Italian food, I guess, as it included haggis and black pudding. Which aren’t very Italian, the last time I looked. Although thinking about it, there are a lot of Italian people living in Scotland. Or there were in the 1930s if memory serves me right. Which it can’t, because I have no memory of Scotland in the 1930s.
I promise I didn’t get really drunk this evening. I’m just rather tired, and perhaps the pizza I ate, and the chocolate torte, and the abject lack of exercise since last Wednesday, and having to spend half an hour navigate Amazon trying and failing to buy nappies, is weighing on my mind. After all, it’s well past midnight local time and I want to be asleep, and instead I’m gassing on about haggis pizza and nonsense like that.
We left the restaurant at about 10:30 in the evening. That was painful enough to me, that we’d spent more than ten minutes eating. But I survived without drooling or screaming. Outside, it was cold. But there it’s been cold all week. This is New York in February. A dot of something gritty brushed my shoulder. I assumed a vindictive teenager somewhere was throwing things. But it’s snow. It’s snowing in New York.