Sunday, September 17, 2006


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.....


Blogger codenameLizzy said...

They must have had their blood drained years ago?

2:09 PM, September 17, 2006  
Anonymous Warbling of Chelsea said...

You mean I had the keys to this city all those summer weeks without realising it???!!
I clearly need to get engaged..... in these last weeks before going home.
With the city that is!


11:50 PM, September 17, 2006  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

The memory that will occur to me upon my deathbed will be that of Mr. Sharque, in his cool, calm, collected voice, stating with only a soup├žon of surprise, "Heavens to Betsy, but I do seem to be aflame."

Dude, your husband is HOT!

--votre Marquis

9:20 PM, September 25, 2006  

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