Waking up in New York

After last night’s drinking session, I woke up lying face down on my bed, all the lights blazing, fully dressed. So at least I didn’t die from too much booze.
Shakily, I descended to breakfast, which, as with every day this week, took a very long time to be brought to the table. I didn’t think porridge or scrambled eggs needed half an hour of prep work, but perhaps the kitchen staff were just trying to provide more opportunity for me to be chatted up by a random man. Or woman. Or robot. I’m not prejudiced.

I really thought I was going to pull a whitey, but as the food came in, my mood improved. About eight thirty we left the hotel, and rather than try to survive a bumpy taxi ride, we walked to the place on Prince Street where we were having our meetings. It was just a half hour walk.

Well, it was a half hour walk if you didn’t get lost and walk all the way down to Tribeca and then double back. Feeling nauseous again, I (along with the rest of the APAC leadership team) had to walk shamefaced into the meeting room half an hour behind schedule. That’s what you get for giving the man with the hangover navigational duties.

This afternoon, meetings done with and dosed up with pizza and fruit juice I felt much calmer and more collected, and then tried to scale the mountain of 300 emails that have accumulated in my inbox. After a while I gave up and had to go outside and walk around until my love of life returned. I walked round to the Barnes & Noble on Union Square, with its unhelpful staff and badly organised kids’ books section. On the way there I’d seen an advert for a pop-up book about dinosaurs that I couldn’t resist, and then it took the staff twenty minutes to find it. But find it they did, at last, so kudos to them.

I returned home with my trophy (stopping at the Best Buy to unsuccessfully have somebody show me a Microsoft Band so I could understand if it really was too big or not), and then discovered that while drunk last night, I had sent emails. That’s the worst condition to be in: so plastered that you may lose all social skills, but still sober enough to be able to send terrible messages to anyone in the rest of the world. However, my drunken id was on its best behaviour and all I’d done was to reply to an email about dinner tomorrow. Without any swearing.

I took calls and worked until 10pm, and now that I’m losing the ability to see straight, I guess it’s time that I went to sleep. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.

Well, only tomorrow. I fly back on Friday, after all.

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