A decidedly British evening in New York

It was pouring with rain when I left the house this morning, it rained all day, and it was STILL raining tonight when I returned to the 59E59 Theater to see my third Brits Off Broadway production of the season.

The show I saw tonight is called “Peddling” and it was written by, and stars, Harry Melling, who you would immediately recognise as Dudley Dursley from the “Harry Potter” movie franchise (and who, incidentally, looks much more rugged and grown-up than that IMDB profile photo would have you believe).

At the time of purchasing my ticket, all I knew of Melling’s play came from the simple yet compelling plot description in the theatre brochure:

A peddlar boy wakes up in a field, somewhere in London, surrounded by the burnt and empty remnants of the night before. With no memory, he knows he must go back to 'the very start of it all.  His attempts to retrace events lead him on a haunting journey where everything comes into question: his life, his world, and his future.

This NY run has only just started (it goes to May 18) and I have to confess, it’s pretty adult material but I thought the 25-year old playwright and actor handled it really well.  I lived in London for only 7 months but the neighbourhood I spent most of my time in was brutalised during the recent London riots.  I remember seeing the stores I shopped in with smashed windows, and broken fixtures and it was all so sad.  As tonight's play progressed, and I watched Melling's character slowly succumb to despondency and aggression and teeter on the edge of violence, I wondered whether the London riots had in fact inspired his material.

I am always very impressed by actors who can carry a one-person show.  To my untrained eye it requires a special kind of skill to take the audience with you and hold them there for the duration of your production.  But that’s exactly what Melling was able to do tonight, and though the theatre was only small, it was full and the applause at the end was heartfelt.  As people left, I could hear them muttering to one another about how impressed they were with his performance, and his interpretation of the character.

The down-side of seeing theatre shows at night is that I’m usually too wired to sleep straight afterwards, so before heading home tonight I trudged through the pouring rain to the opulent St Regis Hotel on Fifth Avenue for a cocktail at its famous King Cole Bar.

I actually didn’t think the hotel would let me in, given that I was wearing black rain boots and had the bedraggled appearance of someone who had been rained on all day (all true).  But they didn't just admit me, the bartender gave me one of the reserved tables right in front of the bar, all to myself!  Such treatment!

The King Cole Bar is famous for a couple of reasons, but particularly because in 1934 it produced the world's first Bloody Mary.  However at the time, the hotel's patrons were a little too upper-class to call it that, so the drink was sold under the name "Red Snapper".  Indeed, you can still order one at the bar today - but for the less refined amongst us, the King Cole also offers a huge menu of Bloody Marys to cater to everyone's taste - Scotch-based, tequila-based, some with clam juice, some with extra spice...it's a treasure.

Had it been brunch, or a weekend, I definitely would have indulged in one of the many Bloody Mary options.  But being a weeknight, and in such beautiful surrounds,  I spoilt myself with an "Astor Midnight" cocktail, made with Stoli blueberry vodka, lavender syrup, limoncello, and Roderer sparkling brut.  I was not at all disappointed - it was a perfect choice.

The other thing that makes the King Cole Bar famous is the historic mural behind the bar. It actually contains a secret and the only way you find it out is to appeal to the generosity of the barman to tell you.  If you're nice to him, he'll give you enough information to let you sniff out the details.  And trust me, when you do learn the secret, it will change the way you look at the mural.

Once my cocktail was finished, and knowing that the rain was showing no signs of abating, I offered my seat to CNN political correspondent James Carville, who had just walked in.  I put up my hot pink umbrella, and in the decidedly British weather, I splashed through the puddles on the long walk home.