Drag and Brooklyn

I woke up this morning with a terribly sore back. I think I must have slept in a funny position. I think I'm also knackered. My mind and body are telling me to stop over-stimulating them.

We got up early so that we could travel to 112th and Broadway, which is the corner of New York where Tom's Restaurant sits. We'd eat up there every day during periods when we stayed with Christopher and Kevin. Nathan was literally craving their banana and pecan nut pancakes. They actually fry the pancakes with the bananas inside, which makes everything go all caramelised, gooey and scrumptious. In our entire trip across America, we've never found another place which does them like this, so the pilgrimage was worth it. My omelette, on the other hand, was slightly tasteless, and the fried potatoes were dry.

Tom's Diner is famous for two reasons. Its neon exterior was used extensively in establishing shots for the show Seinfeld. It's also the Tom's Diner mentioned in the hugely atmospheric Suzanne Vega song:

"I am sitting in the morning at the diner in the corner. I am waiting at the counter for the man to pour the coffee. And he fills it only half way and before I even argue, he is looking out the window at somebody coming in."

Brunch complete, we took the subway down to Brooklyn, marvelling at the sound of the trains, which, when they leave the station, make a bizarre whistle which sounds like the opening four notes from Somewhere, from West Side Story.

A woman by the subway train door was chewing gum and making an infernal noise. She must have been squeezing the air out of the chuddy behind her top teeth because she was making a sort of cracking noise, like a mixture of the sound of bones shattering and an unwelcome dose of diarrhoea!

We changed trains at 42nd Street, and passed a number of street preachers, one of whom was rapping her non-sensical message in a monotone. She appeared to be in a trance. It was like some sort of Beckett one-woman play. Lots of people in New York seem to feel the need to stand on corners, extolling the word of the Lord. All are extremely aggressive and come across like compete nut jobs. Quite why they think this abnormal behaviour is "spreading the word" is beyond me. I can imagine Jesus up there in heaven thinking, "Seriously?! Team atheist get raconteurs like Stephen Fry and Sandy Toksvig, and I get this bullshit?!"

Nathan told me an hysterical story about his meet and greet up at Knitty City yesterday. At the end of the day, someone came up to him with a print out of one of his patterns which she wanted him to sign. As he signed it, she told him how much she enjoyed his designs, before somewhat dryly adding, "I watch your podcast with the sound on mute." Nathan, somewhat taken aback said, "what? Just the visuals?" To which she responded, "you're a little chatty!"

We were heading to Brooklyn to see my dear, dear friend Sharon whom I have probably had more fun with over the twenty one years I've know her than almost anyone else I know. She's had a rough five years. Her son, Edzie, is autistic, and life has been very complicated as a result. When I last saw her, about two years ago, I got the distinct impression that she'd lost sight of who she was. About a year ago, however, she reclaimed her life, lost a shed load of weight, went on a healthy eating and exercise regime and emerged, like a glorious butterfly, looking barely a day older than when I met her.

She met us at the door without a scrap of make up on, looking stunningly beautiful and we spent an afternoon laughing so much we wanted to wee. Edzie has come on in leaps and bounds since we last saw him, and was really good company. Sharon's made a very brave decision in terms of his schooling next year which we both think is an excellent one. If anyone can noticeably improve that kid's prospects, it's Sharon. God knows it must be tough on her, and I'm sure she must feel lonely and housebound, but she has positivity and tenacity running through her veins. I genuinely didn't want to say goodbye.

Jem told us a really funny story last night about the somewhat-deluded, am-dram extras you sometimes get in film, TV and theatre projects, who often try to make themselves seem a little grander by literally making stuff up about the work they've done. One women he worked with was talking obsessively about all the musicals she'd "starred" in, and mentioned being in Cats. "Oh? Who did you play in that?" asked one of the other extras. Puffing herself up as grandly as possibly she replied, "the tiger!" I suspect this is only funny if you know that there are no tigers in cats!

We left Brooklyn and headed to the East Village to look around the vintage shops with Cindy. I was slightly disappointed to find very few pairs of cufflinks. It turns out that "vintage" in New York is almost exclusively a girl thing. What made me very happy, however, was the sight of old lady in Washington Square Gardens, riding a mobility vehicle which had a giant pole coming out of the back with a rainbow flag on it.

I eventually found myself a rather nice brown vintage tie in a little place called Hamlet's, somewhere in the West Village. It'll be nice to have something which reminds me of this part of the trip. Our final day. We ate our tea in a place called Cow Girl next to an entire wall made out of brightly-coloured images of Frida Kahlo, plainly painted by local school children. One of them had drawn her with a moustache instead of a mono-brow, which seemed a little unfair!

We had a fabulously amusing chat about the differences between pumps in the UK and the US. In America, pumps are high-heeled shoes, which is about as far as you can get from pumps in the UK which are black, rubber-soled, children's gym shoes. Or at least they were at my school. Nathan tells me he called them daps. I eventually found a picture of a pair of British pumps and showed them to Cindy who couldn't believe why anyone would wear anything so repulsive... for any purpose.

We had a drink in Julius', which, it turns out, is New York's oldest gay bar, and the New York home of the Mattachine Society throughout the fifties and sixties. The Mattachines were probably the most influential gay rights movement in the history of our struggle and I felt rather excited to be in their gaff.

The night ended with a drag show at Pieces, which is a gay bar I haven't set foot in for about 8 years, largely because the last time I was here, I was with Nathan and Philip Sallon of all people. I remember vividly that Philip was wearing some kind of red and white checked 1960s waitress uniform underneath a floor length white fake fur coat. (Think of all the chemicals who died to make him look that glamorous!) As we left the bar, Philip went up to the doorman and said, "do you know what the best thing about this club is?Losing it!"

The evening was a competition designed to promote new drag talent presented by a hugely talented queen called Shequida who, by the sound of things, and the way she presented herself, has been on the circuit for many years. She's also an opera singer with a glorious, fruity, bass voice. The evening was won by a queen called Betty Bottom whose schtick was that she pulled a series of hamburgers out from her never regions whilst lip-synching her number, which she proceeded to much away at with an air of absolute innocence. A glorious night. An inanely wonderful trip.