R.I.P. David

Like everyone else, I awoke to the news that the iconic person that was David Bowie had passed away.033017 019 023 029 032 030 027 026 043 039 038 036And like many people, no doubt, I felt disbelief. I knew about the new album and had remarked to Debbie only 2 days ago that he would keep reinventing himself for years to come. How wrong I was.

As it was a crisp, beautiful and sunny day I decided Alfie and I could walk the 6 ½ miles from 116th Street down to West Houston Street (where the wonderful pizza place, Arturo’s, can be found – more in my next blog). Where Lafayette Street crosses it you find Number 285 Lafayette Street – Bowie’s duplex home in SoHo for the past 17 years.

Alfie and I walked the path down the Hudson River, stopping for a coffee and a muffin before finally arriving chez Bowie. It took over 2 hours and by the time we arrived there was a crowd of mourners, television crews, photographers, journalists and well-wishers. The flowers had already started to pile up, interspersed with candles. It was 4 p.m. and a good time to visit. Several hours later, they had to put barricades up to deal with the crowds.

The doormen were having difficulties keeping people away from the entrance to the building – one of them, realising that Alfie and I were from England, exclaimed ‘Man, this is a British dog, he needs to be in the middle!’

As usual, Alfie attracted a fair number of fans and he took it in his stride.

Next to me, a French television crew were doing a live piece. An American crew were finishing theirs and a British crew were rehearsing theirs. People continued to arrive, bearing flowers, taking pictures.

2 people I didn’t recognise were being interviewed by another journalist.

Suddenly we could hear music – someone was playing Bowie, of course.

I stood for about an hour taking everything in, placed my flowers and made my way back with Alfie to the subway in the freezing cold, ‘Let’s Dance’ playing in my head.