By 
Did I ever tell you about the time Big D bought me a drink?
It was the last night of a three night stint at The Carlyle, the fanciest hotel in New York City, in the heart of the Upper East Side.
I was playing as a musical guest of a good friend, in the piano lounge.
On night one, I made the mistake of ordering a drink at the bar – a margarita.
When the bill came, it was $50.
I looked at the menu and a bottle of beer was the cheapest thing on offer, at $30 bucks.
That was the last drink I’d be ordering in that bar.
But it wasn’t the last one I drank, as those in attendance were more than happy to splash the cash for the visiting bum from Ireland, who was visibly out of place in such an establishment.
By the third night I had become a fixture.
A barfly.
And then when it was almost time to leave, out of the corner of my eye I seen a guy looking at me.
When we clocked eyes I noticed him straight away.
An old friend, little D.
We immediately embraced, he had no idea I was in town or would be a guest at the show that night.
It was also a strange coincidence as just that morning I was thinking about him over breakfast – eggs over medium with bacon and rye.
And now here we were. Hanging out in the Big Apple with little D.
We gathered our posse of compadres and decided to venture to another bar in another hotel, the aptly-titled Mark Hotel.
It was here where little D was telling me about his job working for Big D, and all the interest and fun that went along with it.
It was then that he ordered another cocktail for me at the bar, and to pay for it he produced his work card, while saying ‘This one’s on Big D’.
So technically Big D bought me a ridiculously overpriced cocktail.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
And if I told you who Big D was, you wouldn’t believe me.