THUR 18th MAR: PREPARING FOR A NEW YEAR

Andrew gives me a call and we decide to go and have a quick pint after work. Nothing too crazy. I promised to be home early to help clean the apartment as is tradition for Persian New Year on Friday night. The Lady is at a friend's eating Korean so I don't feel the rush.

Andrew and I meet in the pub opposite the store of the company where he was made redundant from on Tuesday (Tommy Hilfiger) . Maybe not the best choice of bars. There's something going on down at Tribeca Grand: Heavy.com is relaunching with a Sky vodka free bar between 8 and 9. It's quiet as we turn up but remembering how things changed at that other bar on top of Soho House NY the other week; we order two each. Now a little conscious that 'Double fisting' is not an admired sport in this town, Andrew and I shuffle over the to the corner to hide away our second drinks. From there we can admire DJ El - and, boy, there's a lot to admire. The mixing may not be world class, but who cares from where we're standing.

The room fill soon with (mainly) white hip-hop boys and girls and a few fashion types. Not really 'fills' - it gets rammed. The music's bumping and it feels good to be with a tribe for once: moody, attitude, absorbed. A couple of lads look like they're wearing school uniform. I don't think I could fit in mine anymore. Andrew certainly couldn't.

The bar closes just as I get to the front for a third. Of course, we leave and Andrew suggests we call it a night. I say 'just another one' - of course he agrees and we even phone our girlfriends to tell them what we're doing - wow, we're getting well trained.

We take a stroll and have a poor pint of Stella at a 'jazz bar' close to the Grand. The jazz had finished (it was just past 9!) and when I ask the barman to top up the beer because of the large head he looks at me as if I was cheap. This will be the last one, I promise myself. Then Andrew gets a call. There's something happening at a place opposite Samba Sushi in the Village. Fancy it?

Well it's on the way home. It won't hurt. It's a walk and we enter a restaurant squashed into a triangular parcel of land. It seems they are drumming up custom by turning the place over to a DJ on a Thursday every month. I talk to a Hong Kong-American girl. We talk about immigration; I talk about my girlfriend. Oh, my girlfriend! Heineken down my gob, I say my goodbyes and rush home only to be distracted by an empty stomach. What can you do at this time of night but detour to get a Gyro....

Somehow it's 11.30 when I get home but I can't understand that as I have had so little to drink. The Lady is at home. Oh my god! I can't even make a lame attempt at waking up the neighbours by vacuuming the living room! The place is filthy, she accuses me.

Back to square one.