After five weeks of bucolic relaxation, I'm headed back to the big bad city. It's been a tonic - the Essex countryside was just the ticket, exactly the right place to unwind and blow off the stress of the past year. Tomorrow of itself might be quite stressful - nobody seems quite sure what exactly I can take on board the flight, and I'm flying with BA, whose reputation for efficiency and high standards is not exactly flawless.
I was back in the Smoke this weekend, having dinner and drinks with Matt and Nina at a Sichuan place in London by the name of Bar Zhu. The food was, quite simply, phenomenal - the best Chinese I think I've had in this country, wonderfully piquant and (apparently) authentic Sichuan delicacies of all various flavours. Marvellous. Met Karen and my brother for lunch, once again in Chinatown, the next day, and hoisted a couple of pints. Mike was celebrating too - he just got a grant worth ￡26,000 from the Arts and Humanities Research Council, quite against the odds, to do an MA in sculpture at the Slade (University College London's Art school). Beers on him then.
Sunday was my actual birthday, celebrated in a sort of aromatic haze of beer and Indian food. While the Indian on offer in New York - like, for example, Jacksonville Heights - is not bad, it's not British Indian food. I'm a creature of habit, a fact for which I make no apologies.
Will blog again when back in the wilds of NYC.
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