I'm sure ol' Blue Eyes had different reasons than I for this description of New York City. It is, however, the most fitting quote I can find for my long weekend, now sadly over, during which I probably averaged about four hours sleep per night, either because of jet lag or the desire not to miss a thing. Yes, the reluctant housewife is back in Bovinia, the place where plenty of sleeping goes on, not a high heel nor miniature dog in a coat is to be seen, and the silence seems louder than the Manhattan overpass.
Surprise surprise - a claustrophobic, thick blanket of fog lay over the village as I returned, though CG assures me that the weather was good while I was away (funny how that always seems to be the case; how often have I returned from a rainy holiday abroad, only to be told how wonderfully sunny it was in my absence). Seeing my family again more than compensated, of course, for these slightly negative feelings. It's just that, having experienced city life again, Bovinia seems even more pedestrian and insular than before. Ho hum, I guess I'm tired. Tomorrow I will wake up with renewed vigour and determination.
Let us not forget the purpose of my visit to NYC, namely the wedding of my brother, which took place last Friday evening at the Harbour Lights restaurant overlooking Brooklyn Bridge. I had not known what to expect, having never met his intended apart from a few brief minutes on skype. Well, she's a stunner, there's no doubt about it. The evening was a bit strange though. My brother has accrued quite a few friends and drinking pals over the years, and quite a number of these had made it across the Atlantic to be there, in full force, as well as six relations and local mates from New York. His bride was, in contrast, rather under-represented, I felt. All in all, the whole she-bang was more like a knees-up in honour of my brother (who will be so sorely missed in London) with the wedding as a little side attraction. The party broke up at around 11.30 pm and the bridal couple departed. I found myself drifting along to some random bar with the die-hard revellers. A couple of hours later, though, my bro reappeared, having left his new wife reading in bed. He proceeded to party on till 5 a.m., not that I am one to criticise, as I was still up an hour or so later, drinking tea made by a little Indian guy, sitting on the sidewalk and trying to persuade my accomplice, the little-but-only-in-age pilot brother Rory, to stay up and watch the sun rise (higher) over the East River. Thank goodness we decided against it and finally hit the hay.
The next day I met up with the happy couple on the Lower East Side and was much reassured. I think this girl will take my brother in hand. (It's about time someone did.) Various other jaded people arrived and poked around in salad plates or drank coffee. Another evening of hard drinking was heralded, so I was most glad that my sensible side, who only makes rare appearances, spoke up and excused me in advance. There's only so much carousing I can do.
Well, it feels good to be back in the RH saddle. I do encourage you to comment if you feel like doing so. Sometimes it feels as if I am posting stuff into the ether. Let me know what you'd like to hear more about. Otherwise, you run the gauntlet of being subjected to my random anecdotes ad infinitum. Or is that the very charm of this blog?
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