New York is not a city to have no voice in

It’s getting late in the bar in Alphabet City on the Lower East Side.

The place is called the Dorian Gray. Apparently the owners are distantly related to Oscar Wilde. Either that ,or it’s because it hasn’t aged a bit over the years and the back room is in an awful state. I’m in New York for just a few days doing a couple of gigs at the Irish Arts Centre. After the second gig, I felt hoarse and now after a few hours conversation I open my mouth to say something (no doubt hilarious) and nothing comes out. For the very first time in my life, I’ve lost my voice.

I get anxious. New York is not a city to have no voice in. It might be called ‘New York, New York’ but it’s not a city that believes in repeating itself. There is very little patience with miscommunication. The following day consists of a lot of throat-pointing as a pre-apology. A prolonged sequence in the drugstore on a confusing quest to buy honey leaves me wallowing in self-pity. ’This city is so cold-hearted’ I say to myself. Or I would if I could.