and it wasn’t the sirens or the good folk yacking loudly in the street below; nor my aunt’s big fluff ball cat; nor the kitchen porters emptying last night’s trash; nor the soulful rhythms from a pounding car stereo. None of these woke me, though they all featured in my dozy dreams. No, it was the lovely Osmond’s mobile phone alarm brought all the way from Blighty and proudly informing me that it was 7am back on the other side of the pond.
East Village apartment buildings are, as a matter of arch self-importance (masquerading as practicality), liberally scattered with fire escapes. Auntie Bonus’s pad is no exception and, through the bars and horizontals of wrought iron, the blackish branches of the trees beyond, a fine late-spring day was presenting itself in the green, greener and greenest of the leaves and the full blue sky.
We have arrived! And the queues and the airline food and the packing and the faffing were all worth it because today, and for 14 more of them, I’m in New York and I can do whatever I damn well want. Which is pretty much the whole point of this fair city. Anyway, I’m off to dinner with Bonus and Oli and John the Famous Local. So I will see you later and photos should well be uploaded just as soon as I can figure out how on this foreign machine.