Catster. Central Park. 

Carousel Central Park 

CAT'S SCAN

The Catster arrived yesterday.
Contents of suitcase - 2 packs of feminax (the rubbish new ones, but they are so much better than nothing), 2 old feminax tablets (wow - these things are like gold dust now - I could probably get a load for them on ebay if I didn't want them for myself. But they will have to wait for a very rainy day indeed), Tina Spoon (lovesick rag doll) , pre-ordered shark clothes and hula hoops.
Personally, if I had a suitcase full of such suspect oddities, I wouldn't have volunteered to go through the special full body x-ray machine with all my bags in order to queue jump at airport security just a little bit, but the catster is a fearless feline. She was therefore subjected to the tightest security checks it is possible to experience at an airport, and passed through sans probleme. Strange then, that on boarding the plane she then realised that she was accidentally still in possession of a cigarette lighter, having forgotten to dispose of it pre-security. Which makes one wonder, does it not? She arrived very excited that she could maybe pay for the price of her trip by selling her story to the papers, until I pointed out that as she had passed about 150 places where she could have purchased a cigarette lighter on her journey from the airport to my apartment, it might now be slightly difficult to prove.......

It was the Cat's birthday, so we then embarked on a downtown-uptown east-west marathon to collect the present I had ordered for her, drink lovely cocktails at the Rainbow Room and eat gorgeous food at Tia Pol, which has to be THE best tapas bar outside of Spain I've ever encountered. On the way there, cab driver Abraham introduced himself, shook our hands and recited his entire CV to us before starting to 'drive' (I use the term loosely). He then proceeded to bond with the Catster in a very alarming fashion throughout the entire 40 block journey (ie. without ANY hands on the wheel and FACING us in the back for 90% of the time). Had I been able to get a word in edgeways I might have sugested that he pay just a tiny bit of attention to the road, but the monologue about the entire works of Tom Hanks and Jack Nicholson, plus the non-career of Paris Hilton and various Dangermouse, Banksy spin-offs, left no second for interruption. He was so on a roll that he went 4 blocks too far before even noticing, and then wouldn't let us out until we'd heard his personal 9/11 conspiracy theory. This of course is how cab drivers in NY are supposed to behave, but only do when you're visiting the city. The last time I had an interesting cab driver was when CNL was visiting, and we were treated to a glovebox firearm viewing. If you live here, for some reason you only get the monosyllabic-in-another-language ones. But the Catster doesn't believe me of course. Maybe I will get to experience a NY vacation again too whilst she's around.......

BURNT OUT

Yesterday the Th set himself on fire.

For the briefest femto second I thought it was some kind of party trick inspired by the previous evening's trip to Absinthe, (and what grown man doesn't get home from that and endeavour to put both legs behind their neck whilst simultaneously eating fire? Or something...)
But no. There was a not inconsiderable amount of smoke coming out of one of the pockets of his jeans, and he looked down and stated, breezily like, 'oh look, I'm on fire'.
'Get your trousers off!' my outside voice was shouting. (Just occasionally the outside voice is spot on.) But my-ever-so-cool-husband merely reached into his pocket and put out the flames with his bare hands. That's years of living in Tottenham for you.
Of course it's entirely possible that old Minnie Castevet across the way had put some kind of 'pants' curse on him, given her obsession with the lack of them this week, particularly as he'd been speaking to her only just a moment before. Oddly. But the less sinister explanation is that the Marquis and Ben's personalised matchbook had spontaneously combusted inside his pocket. Most things from Nola it seems, both animate and inanimate, have this habit of behaving in a spectacular manner.

So the day continued without much incident. We met this chap for drinks at some cute boutique hotel bar. Free drinks of course, because the Marquis had it sorted. From what I could gather said chap draws angry bunny rabbits and measures the front of weight watchers buildings across the country for a living, but aside from that he seemed like a perfectly normal kinda guy....
From there to the Bodies exhibition, where for some reason to do with the Marquis, we only had to pay half price. (Although I almost got in completely free on account of bearing a striking resemblance to plastinated remains, having consumed my bodyweight in liquor the previous day with only half a bloodstream left.)

And then to PARTY at the launch of 'Surge' - an exhibition of art by 150 New Orleans artists at Brooklyn Lyceum, including a couple of Marquis pieces. Oh and lots of lovely fun was had there!

There was the voodoo blindfold dancing room? Of course...

And here the lovely Aria demonstrates how to stay within the NY law by simultaneously not drinking outside and not smoking inside a building. And whilst you're standing in an exit, you might as well attempt to charge people 5 dollars to leave. It just might work.....

Much of what occurred after that is a bit of a blur, but I vaguely recall several bars, some kind of motorbyke incident and a stolen pogo stick episode.

I was somewhat sceptical that the adorable boys would make their 10.30am flight this morning, and secretly rather hoping they wouldn't. It's certainly the first morning they've seen in daylight this week. But alas, it seems they are gone. I can only hope that these are the Marquis' keys to the city.....

DRESS SENSE

Mrs N cannot control her excitement this week due to the presence of not one but three glamorous and charming males in our apartment. The thrice daily visits are back and she has taken to loitering in the hallway with intent and little more than a T shirt at every available opportunity. When there is a male 'sighting', she launches into a really odd flirtation ritual.

Clearly she is trying ever so hard to find a ninth husband (or whatever number it is she's up to now) and make an impression. And she has. Today, after her second appearance, the Marquis commented drily 'you'd think someone that rich could afford some pants'.

BLOOD MONEY

I'd figured that getting to the blood testing centre at opening time would mean I wouldn't have to wait in a huge queue......
7.30am and clearly people had been camping out overnight, like Madonna was billed to draw the blood. What's more - the queue all definitely had tuberculosis, even I could tell them that without them having to be tested.

'Take a seat' I was told. If I had actually been able to TAKE the seat somewhere else entirely that would've been fine, but as the only seat was placed between TB and yellow fever, I mumbled 'No, it's okay I'll stand'.
'TAKE A SEAT' the receptionist yelled. Blimey.
Believe me, it's well difficult to hold your breath for over 10 minutes - I understand the whole David Blaine fuss now.

So much for being early. All it meant was that I got the nurse who was late. She entered screaming about traffic delays and dripping wet, then proceeded to yell at her childminder on her cellphone for 5 minutes. Still cursing and with her coat on, she called the name 'Fernandez!' Nobody moved. 'Fernandez!!!' irritably. The receptionist looked accusingly at me. 'Errr that's not my name'.
"That's what it says here!' I spelled my name out again. 'Yes that's what I said -Fernandez! Go in there!' she retorted even more impatiently. Ah whatever....

I smiled at her in my best empathetic calming way as she continued to rant about every highway from here to deepest darkest Jersey, with childminder expletives thrown in for good measure.
'Perhaps you should have a coffee and relax a bit - you've obviously had a very stressful morning'.....
(read - Please don't let this raving maniac stick a needle in my arm........).
Too late. she went in from a great height and with all the angst of American road rage, and believe me, that's a whole different rifle range to English road rage.

She removed 10 test tubes ie. about half the contents of my bloodstream, which amounted to about all that the current mosquito infestation had left behind. And she did it with the gusto of someone who dearly loves her job.

In this country, for this we PAY.....

COUNTRY FARE

The search for valid procrastination went out of the window when the divine and adorable Marquis and Ben came in through the door on Sunday. But strangely, the presence of this best possible type of distraction in the flat has only served to make me write much more quickly and efficiently, whilst these most endearing of house guests deposit little treats on the table in front of me at regular intervals - gorgeous purple orchids, mint chocolate chip cookies, bottles of wine (and of course milk thistle to counteract - how thoughtful is that!).

This is the second time they have visited and I am now convinced that they have this city totally sewn up. Last time we were veritably red-carpeted into all the best clubs in town, and last night they proved that they also have the culinary arena cut and dried and served on a silver platter, when the TH and I accompanied them to the latest 'buzz-restaurant' in town - Country.
Not only are they ever-so-pally-pally with the captain there, but by the end of the evening we were all set up for about the next decade, having been introduced to the chef (read God) and a good deal of the remaining staff. The 7-course meal 'specially prepared for our table' by chef, served by a waiter each, (and at a heavily 'Marq(uis)ed-down' price), was up there in the top two meals I've ever had in my life, and it was really one of those totally perfect evenings - gorgeous entertaining company and incredible food and wine.

Then to the nearest dive-bar with said captain (to bring us back down to our level), for a couple of hours of riveting behind the scenes restaurant stories straight out of 'Hells Kitchen', which always had the same roared ending ( although in a variety of languages ) - 'get your knives and get out!'

'PROCRASTINATION IS SOMETHING BEST PUT OFF UNTIL TOMORROW'

- Gerald Vaughan

Eventually the thing one is procrastinating from becomes the procrastination for the procrastinations. So to speak.
My recently purchased bible for instance. Call me naive, but I really had no idea the bible was so traumatic. I've now finished Genesis, and have thus far (note my newly acquired King James vocabulary) read about incest, infidelity, murder, polygamy, rape, pillage, war, general depravity, errrr did I miss anything? Ah yes, extreme overuse of the word 'peradventure'. There's only so much of all that one can take in one go, which is clearly why tv programmes like 'Big Love' only show once a week. I can only hope that the ten commandments are going to make an appearance sooner rather than later.

So, having eaten the local newsagent totally out of M&M's, there was nothing for it but to either copy out my maternal family tree going back to 1750 in neat writing, (which I weirdly stumbled upon on the web the other day,) clean the entire apartment or try to precis something like 30,000 words into 1,500 words. I'm down to about 7,000 and have reached the point where I'd pretty much rather be doing anything else. Having said that, the family tree is looking dangerously similar to Genesis, so I must say, the hoover is starting to look very enticing.

Eventually the thing one is procrastinating from becomes the procrastination for the procrastinations. So to speak.
My recently purchased bible for instance. Call me naive, but I really had no idea the bible was so traumatic. I've now finished Genesis, and have thus far (note my newly acquired King James vocabulary) read about incest, infidelity, murder, polygamy, rape, pillage, war, general depravity, errrr did I miss anything? Ah yes, extreme overuse of the word 'peradventure'. There's only so much of all that one can take in one go, which is clearly why tv programmes like 'Big Love' only show once a week. I can only hope that the ten commandments are going to make an appearance sooner rather than later.

So, having eaten the local newsagent totally out of M&M's, there was nothing for it but to either copy out my maternal family tree going back to 1750 in neat writing, (which I weirdly stumbled upon on the web the other day,) clean the entire apartment or try to precis something like 30,000 words into 1,500 words. I'm down to about 7,000 and have reached the point where I'd pretty much rather be doing anything else. Having said that, the family tree is looking dangerously similar to Genesis, so I must say, the hoover is starting to look very enticing.

PROCRASTINATION

So yesterday I insisted that we go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to pick up our Godchildren's Christmas presents, as that's extremely urgent. Obviously.
Whilst there I totally fell in love with a bible. It's the sort of bible that makes you really want to read it - huge and full of medieval art illustrations. I just had to have it.
On returning home I completely re-designed my myspace page, because clearly that's really important. Then I tackled the 995 odd socks situation in the bedroom.
That took care of yesterday.
Today I'm about to start reading said bible, because let's face it, I've always meant to.

Meanwhile my feature deadline is looming ever closer......