A green-light day

Riding to work has been such a pleasure since I got back from New York. The streets are Summer-quiet, term-time-quiet, August-quiet - and with so little traffic I can sail straight through most of the minor intersections (don't tell the police). After a few weeks of trudging through my cycling routine, this morning I seemed to breeze through the city, hardly raising a sweat, through a dream run of green lights. Don't you love that?

Driving through New York, all the lights along the avenues turn green at once, so that the taxi drivers fang it the minute the light changes to catch as many as they can. Well, at least our taxi driver did on the way to Harlem one Sunday, but I'm fairly sure he was high at the time, given his breezy disregard of lane markings, barriers, cones, pedestrians and police cars. I don't blame him; even as a passenger, that endless string of green lights appears in front of you and your foot involuntarily presses to the floor.

So, I am feeling a little better than I was and had a nice time in Sweden with my newly health-conscious brother (the same brother who used to survive on two minute noodles and cocktail franks), and I am off to the Edinburgh festival this weekend which I am excited about. It is a 4.5 hour train trip, but I am well equipped with the most gigantic book known to mankind, second only to the bible: Vikram Seth's A Suitable Boy.

Three annoying things about the U.S. (that make me feel marginally better about having to leave New York)

Fitter. Happier. More productive
It is impossible to watch U.S. television without being assaulted by back-to-back ads for drugs of every possible description, promising to treat every possible ailment (and plenty of made-up ones, I'm convinced). They usually feature a good looking couple walking their dog on a windswept beach, talking about how life-changing the latest chemical money-spinner is turning out to be. It got to the point where I was finding comedy value in the awkward "silent" footage they had to run while the narrator spends 10 ponderous minutes listing the outrageous side-effects (using Crapulon may cause spasms, breathing difficulties, hallucinations, bleeding on the lungs, vomiting, and in some cases, your untimely death. Talk to your doctor today to find out whether Crapulon can help make a better you!).

How much food can one little island consume?
ALL OF IT, apparently. Lord, it is impossible to avoid all the food. Manhattan island is groaning with the stuff; piled high with great mounds of it, mostly of the high-sugar, high-fat, crammed-with-additives variety. It is a serious challenge to find a good, healthy meal in the city. I only survived thanks to frozen edamame beans from the Korean grocer, and even then, I spent a lot of time ill (one doctor even suggested the change in diet may have brought on the appendicitis). Order a salad and it will come swimming (literally) in dressing. The only thing to do is give in, and hope that the intermittent illnesses will bring your weight back down to pre-America levels.

If you do go down the path of least resistance, undo your belt a few notches and get yourself a tub of Häagen-Dazs Extra Rich Light Mint Chip ice cream. I know it is half the fat of regular ice cream, but trust me, you will eat twice as much. Also a pizza-pie from Grimaldi's (if you walk over the Brooklyn Bridge you will feel slightly less guilty) and a classic hamburger n' milkshake combo from the Empire Diner in Chelsea.

I'm sorry, I don't speak American
The Americans can't distinguish the individual members of the vowel family. The only way around this is to speak to them with a big old fake American accent. I can't tell you the number of times I had variations on this conversation:

Me: "So that's Kelly, k, e.."
Them: "k, a.."
Me: "No, k-E.."
Them: "k-A.."
Me: "E as in Elephant."
Them: "A?"
Me: "E, not A"
Them: "A?"
Me: "(emphatically) No, not A, E!
Them: "So...k-a?"
Me: "How about I send you an email and you can reply."
Them: "k-a?"
Me: "Bubbye now."

You want more flimsy anecdotal evidence? My friend Stu said no one understood him when he asked for a Coke ("You want cake?") unless he put on his best Texan accent.

* * * *

That's all I got. I could also go on about how unfunny the Americans are (glaringly obvious when up against their naturally witty British counterparts) - but when you take into account their inherent optimism, it's kind of endearing how earnest they are. I am excluding Jewish people here of course; they are funny as hell.

Goodbye NY, hello LDN

I have been back in London for a week now, and already I am feeling nostalgic for the bright lights and wide avenues of New York. There is some kind of magic about that name, isn't there? New York! Even whispered under your breath, it evokes excitement, colour, glamour, drama. The buzz of life swirling around the streets, pouring into the subways, milling around the bars and leering at you from doorways. Park avenue princesses and Madison park bums. Wise-cracking doormen and edgy cab drivers.

A sense of optimism pervades NYC, noticable after the comfortable pessimism of London. New York is brimful of hope right now, especially with the election around the corner.

Despite my nostalgia, my last week in New York was far from the highlight of my trip, and being run down as I was meant I really noticed the smog, the dirt, the noise and the stench of rubbish left festering in the humidity. After I touched down at Heathrow, the thing that really struck me was how green London was, having burst gloriously forth from a wet Summer since I've been away. And how quiet the city is! It seems so peaceful after New York, especially in my little neighbourhood north of the city.

In an effort to help me settle back into my everyday life here, I present a list of things I continue to love about London (which I shall repeat to myself often, mantra-like):

1) The parks. Hampstead Heath especially - so lovely, and more suitable for rambling and picnics than Central Park. Also, there is nothing prettier than an English cottage garden.

2) The quirky style of the inhabitants. People are more free-spirited in the way they dress here, and more rough around the edges.

3) The buses. They are a great way to get around, if you don't mind taking a bit longer, and the sight of a red double-decker bus is inherently cheering.

4) The variety of food that is available. London is a foodie town, there is no denying it. Borough Market, I missed you and your awe-inspiring arrays of meat, seafood, spices, coffee, cakes, bread, and local and exotic fruits and vegetables.

5) My bike and London's increasingly bike-friendly roads (really!). Good to be back in the saddle.

6) Proper world news, delivered by people I can take seriously. Living in New York, you tend to forget about the existence of an outside world.

7) The generally "good natured despite the weather/the fact that nothing works as it should" attitude of the people here.

8) A nice cup of English (or more likely some kind of herbal) tea. It just didn't seem right drinking tea in NY, and I missed the ritual.

9) The sense of history, of course. I hope to see more and do more in this historic town; having made the most of my time in NY, I feel a little like I have taken London for granted.

10) The vast variety of accents, some of which I have become immune to, but some of which still manage to tickle me (the "Cheers, Guv'nor!" to the driver when the bus waited for a tardy cockney to board).

I am sure there are many more things to love about London which I have forgotten to include here, so I will update this list as they occur to me or as I experience them.

Just don't ask me to choose which my favourite city is. I am not prepared to go there just yet.

Fink broods; Liz Phair talks dirty

First up: Fink. I saw the man play at the supremely wonderful Joe's Pub recently. It was good to break out of my usual female singer/songwriter rut, and I must say, sitting only a few feet away from him as I was, I was a little taken with his unapologetically masculine presence on the stage. He struck me as a staunchly old-school bloke - the anti-metrosexual if you like - with his shorn head, wiry form, beer-swilling, anti-fashion uniform of grey sweat top and dirty grey jeans and occassional self-conscious "nice one". His lyrics are (in keeping with his sartorial style) simple and direct, tending towards the everyday - being late for work, buying maple syrup from Asda (or not), perving at girls (in the sexy sexy Pretty Little Thing) - but his voice and guitar playing elevate the songs to another level altogether. Deep, bruising and hypnotic. Shudder. Catch him live if you can; some of his magic is lost in the recording process.

Then there is Ms Liz Phair: a pint-sized dynamo striding the stage at the Hiro Ballroom in leather vest, hotpants and cork wedges. How rock and roll is that?!

I love Liz for the honesty in her music and voice, her brazen sexuality and the f*ck-you attitude that has gotten her into trouble on more than one occassion. This gig was a celebration of the re-release of Exile in Guyville, with Liz and her all-male back up rocking through every song on the album - from 6ft 1in to Strange Loop. I have to confess, despite the fact that Supernova was one song guaranteed to get me on the dance floor in the 90's (the others were Sabotage and Connection), the first album I bought of hers was the comparitively mild-mannered Somebody's Miracle, and that was only a few years ago. However, it was interesting enough that I have been catching up on her past releases ever since.

This gig was my first introduction to Exile, so unlike many devout fans in the crowd, I couldn't sing along rapturously. However, as an Exile-virgin, the stand-out songs for me were (typically) the slower, sadder ones: Glory, Dance of the Seven Veils, Canary, Girls! Girls! Girls!, and Gunshy; and then there was the dirty shock of Flower (whoa momma!) and of course the infamous Fuck and Run.

Lord, why did no one introduce me to this - the ultimate collection of pissed off break-up songs - when I was 23 and torn up with misdirected anger and confusion?

Both Liz and Fink mentioned how great it was to be in New York, and how much they loved the New York crowds; and both mentioned previous lacklustre gigs in Chicago (Liz) and Pittsburgh (Fink). Sadly, my time in New York will shortly be at an end.

Damn, I'm going to miss this town.

The New York List*

Brunch
It's all about brunch in New York! The popular places can have a wait of an hour or more, but I aim to go and eat early (10-11am) on the weekends. Most places serve bottomless coffee for you caffeine junkies.

Pastis. A New York brunch institution, in the meatpacking district. Lovely old world European style interior, serving up classy French morsels. So-so coffee, but great brioche French toast. A must do.

Mud coffee. Very cool coffee joint in Greenwich Village. Hand-picked by my friend Amy, supreme coffee vixen.

Casimir. Another great (but tiny) brunch place in the hip lower East side, on a friendlier scale and budget than Pastis.

Diner. Supremely cool diner in Williamsburg, populated by local hipsters. Watch out for the spindly outdoor tables, which couldn't contain my giant aussie legs (lots of coffee spillage).

Florent. One of the first all-night diners to open in the meat-packing district before it was trendy: soon to be closed because of the sky-rocketing rent in the area. Shame, the home fries were lip-smacking and the place has got buckets of personality.

Balthazar. Fancy-pants French restaurant on Spring Street, popular with tourists and locals alike (prepare to wait up to an hour for a table). I prefer Pastis slightly, because it is a little less hectic.

Penelope's. My favourite brunch spot so far! Very cute little cafe on 30th and Lex, with delicious home made cupcakes, coffee served in mismatched mugs and yummy, yummy food. Oh my god, the blueberry waffles with orange butter... words cannot do justice.

Clinton Street Bakery. The Best Pancakes Ever. Lovely homestyle food, lower East side.

Food
There is such a plethora of choice when it comes to food over here, it's ridiculous. Your best bet is using a combination of the Zagat Guide (the NY restaurant bible) and a more discriminating guide like the Time Out City Guide, and of course local recommendations.

Supper. Atmospheric little Italian place on the Lower East side with exposed brick walls and pretty chandeliers.

Ali Baba Turkish Cuisine. The most delectable, smoky babaganoush I have ever tasted.

Grimaldi's pizza. You deserve one of these world famous pies after walking all the way over the Brooklyn Bridge. Just be prepared to queue (it's absolutely worth the wait).

Café Sabarsky. The rather posh Neue Gallery restaurant. Get yourself a Viennese coffee and dessert (I had the dark chocolate and apricot cake). Natalie Portman had the apple strudel, in case you were wondering.

Katz's Deli, where Sally proved to Harry what great manipulators women can be. It's a lot grimier than it looks in the film, but the girl behind the counter wouldn't accept payment from a fellow Melbournite, so I can't complain.

Nobu next door. Slightly cheaper and easier to book than Nobu, this is the best meal I have had in the city so far - amazing. Promise me you'll go there and try the fresh yellow tail sashimi with jalapeno, and also the rock shrimp tempura. Still drooling.

Adrienne's pizza bar. It's a pleasure eating outdoors on a warm night at this great upmarket pizza bar. The street is lined with bench-style tables, hidden away on a cobble-dy street near Battery Park.

The Empire diner. I can't believe it didn't occur to me to visit an old fashioned American diner. It took an out-of-towner to suggest it. Proper old-school burger-and-milkshake-at-the-counter territory, served with a smile and a wink.

John's pizzeria. Famous pizza pie joint on Bleecker street. Atmospheric, with years worth of names carved into the small wooden booths, but Grimaldi's pizza is superior in my book (I think it's an Italian vs. American thing.)

Drinks
Alcoholic beverages and bars are not my strong suit, I have to admit - I am a lightweight and don't like noisy, crowded bars - but here's a list of the few places I have visited. Don't forget your ID!

Ayza chocolate and wine bar (Midtown). Try a "flight" (3 little samplers).

Flat Iron Lounge. Groovy bar with retro cocktails, near the iconic building.

Under the volcano. Atmospheric (and very dark) tequila bar in midtown. Fierce margaritas.

Divine Bar, right near Times Square. The cinnamon toast with caramel ice-cream was sooo good, but you might feel a little self-conscious ordering the "Stinkin' Dirty Whore-tini". Try the Angel's Tit instead (truly divine).

Darkroom. A photographer friend (appropriately) roped me into coming to this low-ceilinged den and I enjoyed myself dancing inanely to Stevie Wonder and other crowd-pleasers.

8 Mile Creek. Surprisingly tasteful Australian themed bar in NoLIta (north of little italy). You wouldn't really know it was an Australian bar, except that you might be offered a Tim Tam with your drink.

Superfine. A bar in dumbo which is exactly that: super fine. Fantastic G&T with lime, kick-ass music, and rotating local artworks on the walls.

Music/Venues
You gotta see some live music if you come to New York, it has been hands-down my favourite thing to do here - there are some great small venues and you are spoilt for choice when it comes to gig listings.

Smalls. Even for jazz-novices like myself, an umissable experience.

NYC Town Hall. I caught Flight of the Conchords here, but they have all sorts of stuff on - classical, poetry, world music. Lovely old-fashioned theatre with good views from most seats, right near Times Square.

The Mercury Lounge. Proper dark and dinghy rock venue on an intimate scale, East Houston. I saw the fragile but heart-breakingly beautiful Joan As Police Woman here, with New York's coolest in attendance (including a Warhol wannabe).

Bowery Ballroom. My favourite NY music space so far. Beautiful mid-sized venue in a stylish 1920's building in the lower East side, showing loads of cool acts. I caught the very lovely Laura Veirs here (supported by Liam Finn).

Southpaw. Laidback (but supportive) local venue in Brooklyn, far enough from the beaten track to make you feel like one of the locals. I saw Hayden here.

Summerstage. A series of free concerts over the summer in Central Park - what could possibly go wrong? Well, it could pour with torrential rain and thunderstorms on the day Vampire Weekend are playing...but aside from that, much fun to be had.

Joe's pub. My (and Fink's) favourite New York venue. If you call ahead and book a table, you can sit right by the stage and enjoy dinner and drinks while you listen in this intimate space.

The Hiro Ballroom. I saw Liz Phair rocking out at this sumptuous kung-fu-style venue, with paper lanterns hanging from the curved dark wood ceiling. Very cool.

Culture/Activities

Falling Water. More Pittsburgh than New York, but worth the pilgrimage to see the most beautiful example of mid-century American architecture around.

The New York Public Library. Gorgeous building, worth going in for a look. I went to see the Gutenburg bible, but nearly cried when I discovered the actual, real life Pooh, Piglet, Kanga, Tigger and Eyeore, once owned (and obviously well loved) by Christopher Robin Milne.

Avenue Q on Broadway. Cute and funny. I was hysterical at interval: I don't even remember why. Caveat: The Americans will never touch the British when it comes to humour. I think I was just high on life at the time.

Coney Island. I don't think this counts as "cultural", but it's certainly an "experience". Shoot the Freak, ride the Cyclone, ogle the carnies and tuck into a world famous hotdog. Not for the faint of heart. Scheduled for redevelopment, so get there quick if you want to experience the authentic tawdry-run-down-fairground atmosphere.

The Guggenheim. Another cool Frank Lloyd Wright building full of cutting-edge modern art.

Neue Gallery. I tracked this down after spying a Klimt poster on 5th avenue. I adored it: it is a Klimt-groupies dream. And the most gorgeous display of Wiener Werkstätte jewellery imaginable.

Central Park Boathouse. Fortify yourself with an American-style super sweet breakfast at the Express Café before heading out for a row on the lake. If you are feeling energetic (I was), hire yourself a bike from Metro Bicycles (cheaper than the Central Park bike rentals) on 88th and Lexington for an easy cycle round the entire park.

Wicked. The front row seats are allocated via a ballot system - turn up between 5 and 6pm to put your name down and take your chances for the 8 o'clock show.

BAM. The Brooklyn Academy of Music to be precise, but they also put on plays and have a cinema where I saw a bunch of short animated films from around the world, with a Q&A session afterwards.

Whitney Museum of American Art. Great but dissappointingly small collection of modern American art, including Hopper, O'Keefe, Oldenburg, Pollock and De Kooning. Luckily they had one tiny room in the basement dedicated to my all-time favourite sculptor: Alexander Calder; as well as a collection of exquisite Mapplethorpe polaroids.

P.S.1. Contemporary art museum in a converted school building in Queens, affiliated with MoMA. Very cool and definitely worth the trek. I saw a brilliant show around the themes of "flags, weapons and dreams" - a great insight into the underbelly of the American dream.

MoMA. This is the best collection of big-name modern art I have seen in the world - truly awesome. A fantastic space and a definite must-do.

The Met. For some reason, I was expecting the Met to be a bit fusty and boring, but it blew me away. Utterly amazing collection of artworks from throughout the ages, from ancient Egyptian to contemporary American.

New York Botanical Gardens. I spent a very wet and humid Sunday traipsing around this lovely park, seeking out the Henry Moore pieces which are on exhibition at the moment. A serene retreat from the city, up in the Bronx.

*To be updated during my stay.

Not the worst chat up line I've ever heard...

I'm walking home from the Whitney, after a crazy detour through some kind of bubble fest that was happening on Broadway (tons of people making soap bubbles with various implements including: automated bubble guns; huge Y shaped contraptions that produce monster bubbles; and old school 'o' on a stick bubble makers), passing by a 300-strong yoga class that was taking place in the middle of Times Square (only in New York, right?).

I'm negotiating my way throught the throng of fat American tourists when a tattooed guy with a mini-mohawk calls out, "Hey, you dropped your sunglasses!" as I walk by. I look back, confused, and he says "No, I'm just kidding. They're on your head. Do you like comedy?"

I notice he is handing out flyers for a comedy night, like many other poor shlubs peddling tickets around Times Square, centre of the entertainment universe. I smile at my dim-wittedness and shake my head no as I keep walking.

"No? Do you like skinny white guys?"

I truly do heart this big, brash, beautiful, crazy city

Jackhammers pound belligerently in the distance. Taxi drivers beep by way of conversation with pedestrians and other drivers. The occassional wail of a siren or the insistent honking of a fire truck breaks out, cabbies slow to move out of the way. And beneath it all, the undercurrent, when all the other noises conspire to cease for a blessed minute, the rush and hum of Manhattan rises up from the island and filters into my 29th floor apartment.

New York. New York! This trip has been so incredible, so enjoyable (apart from that slight touch of appendicitis) and so easy, really - that I find myself feeling more relaxed than I have in a long time, despite the hubbub. I realised yesterday that I haven't felt worried about anything in my personal life since I've been here. And for me, a chronic worrier from the time I achieved self-consiousness about age 4, that has been an incredible respite from my usual way of being.

I'm still a little lazy, quite vague and dreamy, and prone to pessimism when things don't go my way, but these last 12 months have been quite a journey for me. Sorry to get all self-help on your asses - and believe me, America is the place for self help, whether by drugs, books, drugs, television, therapy or more drugs - but I am in a very good place at the moment and can't remember ever having enjoyed myself more.

As I said to my mum on the phone this morning, this trip has been the highlight of my life so far. Seriously. I know that sounds dramatic, but really, it has! All my other travels, wonderous and amazing as they have been, have been ever so slightly tarnished by worry niggling around my edges. Here in New York, with the practicalities taken care of by my work and the knowledge that this is a temporary state aleviating my need to worry incessantly about the future - I feel totally immersed in my pure enjoyment of this great city. Central Park, Brooklyn Bridge, eating burgers and drinking milkshakes, seeing broadway shows and going to lots of gigs - indulgence and entertainment have become my way of life over here, and unhealthy as that may turn out to be (physically or spiritually), I am enjoying being me, being here now, more than ever.

Even the prospect of returning to London isn't bothering me at this point. Come back to me in a few weeks and you might find a somewhat different story (no one changes that much, after all) - but right now, I feel serene and bouyant and lucky. It's a very good feeling.

Apologies for the gushing. It's possible karma will decree that I get mugged as soon as I leave the building.

Geek rock: Laura Veirs at the Bowery Ballroom

I just can't seem to escape the geek connection lately. Ever since I started wearing glasses, my world view seems to have shifted somewhat (and not just because distant buildings/trees/signs are uncomfortably sharp now).



I think I admire Laura all the more for her ever-present specs. In fact, it was a picture of her in said specs on the cover of Year of Meteors which first attracted my attention at the Highgate library. Unlike 95% of young female artist cover shots, it was not sexy, not overly styled, and she was not smiling, just gazing straight out, a strange combination of reserved and defiant - serious but with a trace of a mocking smile. I took it home and what sealed the deal for me was 1. the sound, original, pure, captivating and slightly melancholy (if I had to categorise it, I would say indie folk) and 2. the lyrical themes of night skies, literature, swimming, mermen, caves and mountains.

Alone on stage at the lovely Bowery Ballroom, just one girl with her guitar and reverb pedal, Ms. Veirs did not disappoint. The most surprising thing was her strong and sure presence on the stage. She did say towards the end of the night that she was feeling especially relaxed and happy; like she was doing a lap of luck-xury, which she went on to explain was what she and her tour-mate did every time they got a hotel with a pool, to bring luck for the evening's performance.

She played a good selection of recent and older songs (I only know the stuff from her last two albums), as well as a couple of covers and an ode to Obama that sounded so heavenly, she almost changed my mind.

Oh-bah-mah-a-ah, Oh-bah-mah-a-ah, isn't he handsome? Isn't he smart?

A few people in the crowd felt compelled to call out Hilary's name afterwards. There is such a blatant popularity contest going on over here, but Obama seems to be winning in the public profile category.

For the encore, Laura came out with her support act in tow, Liam Finn (who was a tad disappointing with his self-indulgent racket-making), and they joined forces for a rousing version of Galaxies. With Liam restrained from his earlier freak-out and restricted to back up vocals and drums, it was a heavenly way to end a night which made me feel smug to have discovered such a cool artist whose sensibilities are so in tune with my own.

Flight of the Conchords at NYC Town Hall

So, against the wishes of my mum and her boss and all the lovely people who have my best interests at heart, I went along to the Flight of the Conchords gig last night. How could I not? I have been obsessing about these boys since a little article in the Guardian tv guide piqued my interest many months ago. Seeing them was the thing I was most excited about doing during my time in New York. In fact, there are those who have suggested that my entire motivation for coming to New York was to see Bret and Jemaine in all their sexy, beardy, low-key, funkalicious glory. That may or may not be true, I'm not prepared to comment.

And anyway, I already missed out on Feist, whom I had tickets to see last week. Damned appendicitis, derailing my 3-month non-stop NY fun-fest.

The crowd was mostly made up of blokes, interestingly, in pairs or small clusters, who were dressed like their heroes - lots of checked shirts, retro t-shirts and quirky glasses. Geek chic, which is the new look I am rockin' in my specs (the need for which I really can't deny any longer), was the overall vibe. One girl even yelled out a request for the "Binary Solo!" - now if that girl is not at one with her geekiness, I don't know who is. It was basically a big love-in really, with various female audience members shouting out their adoration for one or the other of the pair throughout the night. At one point Bret felt there was too much attention being paid to him, and not enought to Jemaine, so he got all the blokes in the hall to yell out "I love you Jemaine." And they did!

This is a new era, people, one where a heterosexual guy can tell a heterosexual guy that he thinks his booty is fly.* But still not one where it's ok for a bloke to cry.

It was a very lovely, friendly atmosphere, with Bret and Jemaine their typically laidback, understated, unpresuming selves - Bret so much so that at one point he made a little tent from his guitar cases and laid down after professing to feeling a little bit tired. Jemaine brought his mike over and attended to him like a gentle uncle with a nephew worn out from all the excitement of the day.

The duo ("we're a band, if you can have a one-man-band and a band with 3 people, we are definitely a band") played some well-loved songs from the TV show - Rhymenocerous probably got the biggest reaction, but Robots was also a crowd-pleaser - as well as some very cool new stuff, with lots of laidback observations in between. As with many of their songs (apart from the odd theme song or heavenly daydream), there were lots of slightly love-lorn odes about girl problems. There was one in which Jemaine does a roll-call of all his ex-girlfriends and what went wrong ("Flo had to go, Stephanie pulled a Persephone"), before asking whose idea it was for all his ex-girlfriends to get together and form a choir. They finished with a slightly tragic story of a local tour guide and the object of his affections.

I think the 'chords are part of a new wave of comedy. Low-key, sweet and very funny in a very gentle way, marked by a more imaginative and fantastical sense of creativity than the previous cocaine-fuelled ego-maniacs and world-weary cynics of yore. Bravo, boys.

*Jemaine proceeded to explain that "putting a wig on you" is some kind of jive talk which shows your respect for the other person, as in "I dig you brother! I put a wig on you! I put a big blonde wig right on you!"

I see a boundary, I eat a boundary

A few more "firsts" to add to my ever-expanding list:

1. First time dialling "911". Or any national emergency number for that matter. But 911 is the coolest, right?

2. First time in an ambulance (no sirens! Dammit).

3. First time in an ER. I was the only female patient on the ward, strangely.

4. First time on morphine (I do NOT recommend it. Two nights later: horrific nightmares/visions when I closed my eyes.)

5. First CAT scan.

6. First appendectomy.

Alright God, I promise to stop having such a damn good time if you could just see your way clear to letting me have some good health now. I think I've earnt it.

So I'm moving to New York cos I got issues with my sleep

Weeks before I came over here, I was having problems sleeping; I suppose caused in part by my excitment, partly by the overwhelming anticipation and partly by dread of the unknown (I am a big fat old scaredy-cat). But even after I arrived here and found that everything was fine (as the rational part of my brain knew it would be), I still haven't got back into a regular sleeping pattern. Every morning at around 5.00am, ping! Awake. Basically, right now I am being propped up by the towering Berocca stash I was careful to bring over with me. That and the general buzz of the city, which your nerves are plugged into every waking moment. I do love this place.

The first thing I am aware of when I wake up is the low hum of Manhattan and the distant din of the traffic, dulled by my earplugs. Occassionally I am woken by the sound of sirens and garbage truck horns (man, those garbage men love to lean on those babies), but I am high enough up not to be too disturbed by the street noise.

And the last thing I see at night are the lights of the city twinkling through the fine blinds. In a bid to make my room a little bit more of a sanctuary, a lavender candle burns next to two pretty glass ornaments bought at the Falling Water gift shop.

I just discovered the "secret" roof terrace too, which offers a brilliant 360 degree view of the city (if you walk all the way around), and an arresting close-up view of the top of the Empire State.

I feel like I'm living in a waking dream. Maybe that's why I'm not sleeping so well.

This is jam hot

Just another day in my newly adopted home of Manhattan, a hint of Spring in the air despite the chill. Fresh cherry blossoms burst from their buds on the branches. The sun is warm when you are in it, but step into the shadow of a skyscraper and the temperature plummets.

I walk home from the office down 5th avenue and notice a bit of a hubbub down one of the cross streets. A whole lot of film paraphernalia lines one side of the street - boom mikes, light boxes, lots of people milling around looking busy. On the other side of the street is a mob holding assorted cameras aloft. At the front, the pros with their big black SLR's; at the back, the rabble holding mobile phones and compacts. New York City cops barking "How many times do I have to tell you guys to turn off ya flashes!"

At the focus of everyone's attention are Julia Roberts and Clive Owen, filming a scene from some movie (at a guess, some kind of espionage thriller, or possibly a neurotic rom com). She is tiny in a little black skirt and jacket - I know people always say that but I thought she was supposed to be tall! She ain't. She is wearing stilettos with heels so fine, I can't imagine how they bear her weight. Thinner than pencils. Then again, she probably weighs about as much as my laptop. Clive looks hot as always in a smart grey suit.

Just another day in the big bad city. Sorry to rub it in, but New York is turning out to be great.

New York, New York, it's a hell of a town

I am heading off to New York in 3 short weeks!

*hyperventilates with fear*

What on earth made me think that applying for a three-month secondment in a big, bad city full of strangers was a good idea? Me, who likes the quiet life. She who embodies the term "young codger". The girl who doesn't cope with change and spent her first few months in London a depressive wreck, cowering under the covers and jumping at squirrels (those creepy squirrels! If you have spent any time watching one, you know they are inherently evil, with their beady eyes, twitchy little paws and suspiciously bulging cheeks).

All I know is, when I got the phone call to tell me I got it, I don't think I have ever been quite so excited. It takes a lot to get a reaction out of me - I have a few theories as to why I tend to suppress any outward displays of enthusiasm - but after I put the phone down, I screamed. Out loud, not just in my head . Then I rang my mum and dad, whose reaction was "we presumed you already had it." Grateful for the faith, oh parents of mine, but geez! Do I have to get pregnant before you guys get excited for me?! Don't answer that. I know. Hopefully it will happen in your lifetime guys. Hell, hopefully it will happen in my lifetime. They might have to clone me in the future.

Anyhoo, New York! Woody Allen, Broadway, the Empire State, cheesecake, Lady Liberty, Seinfeld, Central Park, Central Perk, Sex and the City, bagels! So now it's all looming scarily close to reality, and I am careening wildly between crazy-excited and crazy-scared.

Either way, it's going to be an adventure.