manhattan transfer…
Well it clearly is true that time flies when you’re having fun, but it’s no less unfair that my last day in New York is here already (although there’s five hours more of my day left than that of UK readers, which is at least some small consolation).
I type on my spanking new and very pretty Samsung Galaxy tablet*, which is simultaneously the most potentially useful and also the most annoying piece of kit I may ever have purchased; it is currently just before 8.30 in the morning here in Manhattan (and thus Last Day Lie In time, shortly to be followed by shower-hair-run-to-corner-for-egg-and-cheese-roll time) and as every day bar Saturday, the sun is out. Given the endless correctings (thanks mostly to the predictive text function that I have not yet figured out how to switch off) I have no doubt at all that by the time this actually sees the light of day I will be well on my way back to – if not actually in – Waterloo, but depending on wifi availability who knows?
I have been incredibly privileged to have not only one but two extra hours handed to me over the last couple of weeks, as not only was I in Scarborough when the clocks went back the Sunday morning before I set off, they went back again here last weekend too – yay! New friends have been made, a lovely new hotel settled into and all sorts has been going on around the island from the chaos of Halloween (which began early doors on Friday when I saw a man walking down Park Avenue shortly after 9am in business suit and full head skull mask complete with straggly nylon hair, and continued apace with everybody and their dogs dressed as something; my favourite of the day being a grown man dressed as a kiwi fruit) and the Village Halloween Parade, to the New York marathon on Sunday.
It isn’t as if anybody needs an excuse to stroll around Central Park in the autumn time but one never hurts, and finding a quietish spot somewhere just down from the Met and around the 24 mile mark to cheer on people who had run further in a couple of hours than I could conceivably walk in a day turned out to be lots of fun, although I almost managed to scupper my afternoon plans to watch Noche Flamenca in Chelsea at 2pm when the realisation dawned that the park-looping marathon route is uncrossable, and thus the subway station some three minutes away on 59th Street may as well have been on the moon for all the good it was to somebody on the other (wrong) side of it. Finding myself with slightly under an hour to backtrack twenty blocks through winding paths just so I could get out of the park and then travel sixty blocks down and seven across town to the Joyce theatre is not an experience I’m dying to repeat, but I made it – just.
There has been a trip to the Fashion Institute of Technology to see the lingerie exhibition as well as a historical collection of dance costumes (which were well worth seeing before the flamenco especially – I’ll be back in time for the counterfeit couture one coming up) a small amount of shopping worked around a big amount of buffet lunches, and the perennial plan to go to the late movie show before throwing in the towel due to tiredness – waking up before seven am every morning being the usual precursor, but a few energetic visitors providing another contributing factor. I also got to revisit the High Line for some fresh air and (necessary after a buffet lunch) a nap in the sun, having erred on the side of caution back in February when it was minus ten on the warmer days and under a few feet of snow to boot.
Fast forward to today and I am indeed back in London, fairly frazzled around the edges but otherwise unscathed after both the first overnight flight ever not to boast at least one excited school party and a couple of screaming infants thrown in for good measure (last time two rows behind me, if memory serves) and a journey from the city to the airport that was completely unremarkable and without incident – I’m looking at you, E train. Admin and errands are taken care of, nap time has been and gone and a few not-too-strenuous hours approach before the final leg of the journey home. Availability is fairly scant, but with a couple of gaps left this evening all is not lost and whilst I certainly won’t be packing in the punters, I naturally don’t want to risk boredom to go with the jet lag.
Having rambled enough for now, suffice to say there will be another update once I’m home – Scarborough incalls resume Monday (and I’ve been surprised how much I missed my little flat!) and London punters will have to wait until the Big Christmas Trip from December 18th – woohoo! The usual Christmas page will be up within a couple of weeks, and all the rest will be revealed thus.
More soon! I would have included a bit about our pal Fiona MacTaggart and her sneaky attempt to slide the Nordic model into the new Modern Slavery Bill the other day (quick article here from my pal Niki Adams at the ECP), but since it was laughed out of the room without even getting as far as a debate it’ll keep until next week.
* OK, I finished it on the laptop in the end. Stupid touchscreen.
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