When my mum was 20, she hitchhiked across the USA with an American girl… Sadly they lost touch afterwards and didn’t speak again for years. Fortunately the power of the Internet got them back in touch again a little while ago and they now visit each other fairly regularly. The friend lives in The Bronx and she and her husband are great, so Mr and I were delighted to join them for an afternoon of dining and drinking. The venue was Bohemian Hall, a bar with the oldest beer garden in NYC (opened in 1910) which is located in Astoria, Queens. The bar is run and managed by the Bohemian Citizens’ Benevolent Society of Astoria, a organisation dedicated to education and preserving the Czech and Slovak communities in the area… Which means lots of tasty Czech/Slovak food and beer.

A couple of shots of the garden.

We were starving when we arrived so we started with a share plate of Klobasa, Bratwurst, Grilled Mushroom & Ribs served with Fresh Sauerkraut, Crunchy Pickles & Fries.

It was delicious and greasy so we continued the trend with some more grease.

After a wonderful night watching the Olympic opening ceremony at an Irish pub, where I met some properly lovely people, Mr and I decided to visit another for the closing. Once we’d found one, we ensconced ourself at the bar, up for a little banter to accompany the show. The place was pretty empty but we chatted a little to an older guy sat near us, who was from Manchester. The conversation petered out fairly quickly and we went back to talking amoungst ourselves and to another man at the bar. However, Manchester was still listening to, and occasionally interjecting in on, our conversation… And he didn’t seem to much like what was coming out of my mouth. Some things that got Manchesters goat –

*That I was looking forward to The Spice Girls. He didn’t seem to have much respect for any music released after 1975, and even then only if it was The Beatles or Eric Clapton (the Fifth Beatle, as he kept informing us).

*When I questioned why Blur weren’t playing live, when The Pet Shop Boys were, he seemed to think I thought that the PSBs WERE Blur. This lead to many snorts of derision, despite me explaining that wasn’t what I had said. What can someone who likes The Spice Girls possibly know about music, eh?

*I expressed delight that Elbow played One Day Like This, for I think it to be a beautiful song. Ooh, he didn’t like that at all. He snorted so much he may well have followed through, snot wise.

*As the National Anthem played I expressed my dislike of it, as I believe an anthem should celebrate a country and it’s people, rather than just their monarch. Manchester saad something like ‘I’ve been to countries all over the world and the British anthem is the best’. As I had no idea what criteria he was using to judge it ‘best’ and didn’t really care, I barely responded.

The final straw for Manchester though was, predictably, one of his beloved Beatles. A choir of children dressed in white sang/signed Imagine, which I thought terribly cheesy and weak. I wasn’t the only one expressing this opinion, but I was apparently the only one Manchester had a problem with. “Lennon is a legend and a Liverpudlian!” he yelped, for apparently I had somehow given the impression that I didn’t know where The Beatles were from. I explained that my issue was not with the song, but the staging. He did not care to listen, “Your girlfriend has been talking shit all night” he said to Mr. For some reason my initial response was to inform him that he was speaking to my husband, though with hindsight I fail to see how this was any of his business. Mr tried to defend my honor (he’s good like that) but I was incensed that Manchester had included him at all. It felt very much like he was implying that, as a woman, my partner should keep my mouth under control. I don’t do well with that kind of thing, I’d like to say I offered a witty and erudite response but sadly I could manage little more than a string of f-bombs. None of my previous attempts to reason with the drunken Mancunian had worked anyway, perhaps swears were the only response he deserved. The barman, who was clearly well versed in conflict management, stepped in at this point, so we all went back to our pints… Mr quietly steaming that he hadn’t defended me more vigorously and me assuring him that I can look after myself, though obviously it’s nice knowing your partner has your back.

The barman brought me a free pint, apologising for the altercation and we tried to ignore the Mancunians continued existence. A short while later there was a huge clatter and I looked around to see Manchester flat on his back on the floor, having fallen over in his chair. I did not help him get up. Vindication! Laughter! Schadenfreude! I’m a bad person sometimes. Hahaha.

Posted with Blogsy