West Village idealism versus The Winter of our Discontent?

What's this? They gave peace a chance but then let it die? Or perhaps the harshest Winter ever seen took it's toll on the plants?

Inevitable Michael Jackson post

It's hardly novel, but I feel quietly crushed by this news. Another felled icon of American pop culture. The New York Times has a touching article:

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/26/arts/music/26jackson.html?_r=1&hp


For all of the weirdness, this is the man who gave us the moonwalk, Thriller, black patent shoes and plasters as fashion accessory. He also had good views on tree-climbing, suggesting everyone should do it everyday. He was right.

So, borrowing from the Tristram Shandy school of mourning...

For those moments when words are not enough.

Because today is Tuesday and tomorrow is Wednesday and sometimes that is the only reason I need.

Rules to live by

How to consolidate your friends and identify your potential enemies in any social function.

It's easy, just ask the following three questions:

1) Does the thought of pop tarts make you smile?

2) Do you remember the Skee-Lo track 'I wish'?

3) Would you ever refer to a dog as a 'little guy'?

Response 1) If said person looks distant and doesn't know what to say, run for the hills. Foodies are limited! Embrace the e-numbers, but remember to brush your teeth.

Response 2) Yes or no. Open shut case. If you can't see the logic in this I can't help you.

Response 3) Quadrupeds rock and lower your stress levels by 30%. No further explanation required.

Let me tell you a story...

One stolen day, I made tracks to the decidedly fancy Hamptons, not to wear white and laugh at the great unwashed, but instead to explore East Hampton as a friend was stationed there for a work-thing. (My beauty is in the details). It was just at the tail end of the summer, when there would be moments of fleeting warmth but wool and tights were essential before giving in to the tyranny of a Winter coat.

I arrived in East Hampton and the scene was perfect, the summer season had more or less trailed out the week before so the holiday town, for once, had the air of a normal town, aside from the bombastic Gucci and Tiffany shops that replaced the conventional newsagent and pub.


After a day of pottering, going into the marginally more accessible shops we headed to the beach. I had some left over champagne from the wedding and sharing a toast with the sea seemed like the perfect way to finish it.

We grabbed rugs and blankets from B's house and headed to the water. The beach was empty. I could see for hours and miles in either direction. We sat down, uncorked the ludicrous champagne and watched. It was overcast, however the sun was strong enough behind the cloud banks to illuminate everything, making the clouds glow at the edges. The colours were all muted, soft, as if they had been rained on. The sea was a slate grey colour. The sand itself was a creamy colour. Suddenly this was more than just a lovely day out: it was unbearably beautiful.

We were now huddled under blankets as the wind coming off the sea was brisk and watched the sun progress west.

We had time to take one quick photo, above and then I realised I was late for the bus back. After a scramble we got to the bus stop, only in time for me to decide that I needed a wee... and thus diving into someone's front lawn and making tactical use of some convenient shrubs.

Do you like my lamp? OR Dumpster-diving is the new black

Rule: always live in the nicest area you can possibly afford.

Why so wise sage?

Because the recycling opportunities are endless, much like the sea (well, a bit).

One day, earlier on in the NYR (New York Romance) I was running down the stairs, in an effort to avoid a painful stop-and-chat in the lift and look what I found on the 6th floor, in the recycling stairwell. Look!

The curves! The elegance!

O happy day! the merry little guy works too, all we had to was replace the bulb.




The moral of this particular story is that richer folks than you may throw out things you might like, thus it pays to stay vigilant.

Dumpster-diving is the new black.

Poem on the underground

What kin is my father to yours?
Who is your mother anyway?
How did you and I meet, but in love?

Our hearts have mingled like red earth and falling rain.

Sadly, I didn't come up with this. It was one of the featured poems on the London Underground a while back, I think around 2000, the summer of love #1, and I looked up and read it, as I was impatiently counting down the stops. It was hot, scorchingly hot, and my mind and eyes were full of everything. It was the summer everyone was reading Captain Corelli's Mandolin and it became customary to peer over the reader's shoulder to see where they were up to. So whilst my mind was darting on every which subject, I saw this poem and have never forgotten it. I know there is a trend for middle-aged, corny humour in this series of poems at the moment but this one made me float for the entire summer.

First warm evening of scent!

Does everyone do this? After the longest, hardest winters, my OBF (Official Best Friend, or 'Whim' as she is also known) and I made a habit of celebrating that magical first evening when the temperature rises above 50 degrees and it is just possible to smell the air. Suddenly it is possible to smell pine and water and drains and food floating out of any nearby restaurants. It's such an enlivening experience and yet, every year, it happens, and every year we respond to it and each other in the same way. It always makes me grateful for scent and the fact that even the longest, bleakest winters do eventually fade into something altogether more palatable. Of course, the only downer in all of this voyage of discovery is that this night is regularly a false dawn and whilst you know spring and warmer times are coming, there may well be a fair few frosts before you can venture outside in just one simply city dress and maybe a jumper or something. (I'm from Norfolk remember)

Bucking the trend, last Thursday had some magic!

Last Thursday went pretty much to type: intense, rather long and undoubtedly complicated at work. So far, so standard. However upon returning home and checking the answerphone, I discovered that two friends who had been engaged for a while had decided to 'elope' within their very own city, New York and had got married! It was all top secret and they simply called everyone afterwards. They sounded so euphoric and liberated but also quietly thrilled with their delicious secret. It was a good day.