The Rules

I’ve not been neglecting you, honest.

I’ve been in New York, on that birthday-trip I mentioned – and because I flew out very early Friday morning and back again very early this morning, I’ve worked out that in the last 24 hours alone, I’ve been to the Guggenheim, the American Museum of Natural History, taken a transatlantic flight and had a driving lesson.

I am also, by the way, grotesquely jetlagged.

Aaaaaghhhpffzzznghplft.

New York was wonderful. You’ll get the obligatory What I Did On My Holidays post and I’ll put a few pictures up once I’ve figured out how to get them off the newfangled camera thing (which will no doubt refuse to talk to my Macbook. Most things do), but in the meantime, here’s a couple of rules we discovered while we were out there:

1. There is no such thing as a bad pizza in New York.

2. If you pass a group of middle-aged men smoking on a street corner near a parking racket, and think, “Huh, they look just like wiseguys”, chances are they are wiseguys.

3. You do not need a clock to tell the time in the Meatpacking district. If the cabs are no longer honking each other, it’s 3.30am.

4. It’s apparently normal to find crowds of Santas, elves and assorted Christmas-types conga-ing from Fifth Avenue into Central Park. (Presumably this rule only goes for this time of year).

5. New Yorkers are fiercely, intensely proud of their city – in a way which we Londoners just can’t quite manage. And you know what? They have every right to be.

6. I am intensely predictable.

Now. Sleep.

Blessed, blessed sleep………

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