A Bat in Old New York

A DECADE ago I traveled from England to spend three weeks in New York with friends who lived down by Greenwich Village. The trip was, in practically every sense, unsuccessful, and this was certainly no fault of my host and hostess, who were generosity itself. Almost every night we visited the theater. By day, I was shown the sights. Promptly on the stroke of five, the cocktail hour allowed me legitimately to top up my flagging batteries, and to drink enough to plunge those theater evenings into a haze of rosy, cosy muzziness. Now and then, I went off during the daytime to establish what I claimed were business contacts. These excursions invariably led me to convenient bars.