Wife and I saw a lot of Good Friend in PR this trip. New York is currently is home (although I am doing what I can to change that, considering teaming up with Events Company Chairwoman to form a powerful lobby that will force his repatriation to W4) and now that he works for himself we were able to see more of him that would have been the case in the bad old days of wage-slavery.
One night saw him (with typical flair) take us to two of the best rooftop bars in New York: the first, at his club, the very ritzy Soho House, the second, the tiny but beautiful bar at the top of the 60 Thompson hotel. We had a great time with him (he’s having a rather trying time, but dealing with everything with his customary generosity, good humour and grace), which explains why, although we both had separate dinner arrangements, he left Wife and I in Soho House when he went back to his flat, before joining us later.
As we sat on the roof terrace, being served by a waitress who (in Wife’s immortal phrase was “distracted by her own breasts” – understandably, as it happens, but anyway…), we talked about the difference in our characters, agreeing that one of my dominant character traits is to over-think, over-analyse (and thus) over-worry about pretty much everything. I suggested that it might be, in part, my job that makes me behave like this (analysis being something of a leitmotif in Planning), but she feels that the behaviour is more fundamental than that).
She also feels that I let my very English embarrassment gene kick in too easily. Citing a series of photographs that she took for her exhibition (in which she dressed as a giant, eerie rabbit – think Donnie Darko – and cavorted across a series of twilit landscapes to the amusement of the amassed onlookers), she said to me: “The thing is, darling: sometimes, you’ve got to wear the rabbit suit. You may feel a tit, but that’s the only way to get it done.” She’s right – sometimes, you have got to wear the rabbit suit – which will be a nice surprise for my colleagues at work.
After a great dinner at Matsuri, with Acclaimed Photographer Friend, we headed back over to Good Friend in PR’s current outpost – 60 Thomson. It’s a super chic hotel, and he was chic to match: cool haircut and a very svelte frame meant that he fits right into this sort of place (whereas I still manage to look like I really ought to be limited to bookshops) and we went up to the rooftop bar – the second of the night. What a view: absolutely breath-taking, and although we couldn’t stay long (Wife was not so fresh from her Go-Go Dancer baptism), we had a wonderful time.
