The washing up

When people say, "so what did you like best about New York?" I squint and waggle my head a little, trying to dislodged the badly shaped sentences because there is no one thing to like best. King Kong isn't there, I didn't see the Northern lights, Truman Capote didn't meet me for lunch at the Moonstruck diner.

It was everything, I try to explain. I saw Christopher Walkin on stage in an excellent play, I went to charity shops that sold mint condition pieces of Max Mara and Pucci like it was no big deal, the cook in my favourite diner used fresh peas in my vege plate, there were black squirrels in Central Park who posed agaist piles of snow, I could buy Bumble and Bumble shampoo in Target, the architecture is beautiful, the cemetries outside of Manhattan are enormous, the news stands sell Twizzlers.

And that's just start. I've been home for three weeks now, unpacked all my loot, settled the cast iron cat on the kitchen table and stared wistfully at my photos. We had such a great time. We couldn't live there, we don't think. Paris, easily, London, probably. Ireland, certainly. But New York City is such a massive concept. If you live there you'd would trouble leaving. In some ways it is its own world, completely unconnected to this world the rest of us live in.

But we'll definitely go back. I can't wait.

So to put New York and indeed March 2010 to bed, here's few more photos. In a day or so there'll be another unrelated blog about giving up poetry and then this will probably turn into one of those "I love all my clothes and yours too" blogs.

Happy times.