New York, New York...

So having spent the last four days in New York, forever looking at my watch and saying, 'Is it really that early?' yesterday was spent looking at my now five hours fast forwarded watch and asking the husband, 'Is it too early to go to bed yet?'  I now fully understand why they call that night flight back from the USA the 'red eye'.  It would appear that 11.45am was too early to go to bed, but from the husband's point of view 2.27pm was just fine.  I just kept going.  Cleaning up the house after having the children in charge (fat Percy, no milk, and Reg had eaten half a pot of Vaseline) it took every ounce of self control not to simply collapse on the sofa when I was doing a little cushion plumping.

The trip was fantastic though.  When I last checked in with you all, we'd pedaled around New York and lived to tell the tale.  We followed that up with an open top bus tour (more of a stand still as the Friday traffic was obscene) and we then headed to the Rockefeller Centre to see their Christmas displays, and to take the Willy Wonka-esque elevator to the 67th floor so that we could see a lit up New York laid out before us.

Saturday taught Miss R and me that the husband was not to left alone unsupervised for more than twenty seconds.  All we'd done was go into the supermarket for some stamps.  In the few seconds we were there, the husband had been approached by two ex-cons, eager to find out how he stood on the whole God/Love thing.  It turned out that Ex-Con-Don (how great to have a name which also described what your background was so succinctly) was heading into the city that very morning to introduce the President to his new company, which insisted on every American wearing beige (a throwback to the uniform he wore when in the 'pen').  He then started talking about how we could help him with his plans which would involve money.  Quelle surprise....

On Sunday we had a fantastic walk around Central Park, where I spent a most enjoyable couple of hours stalking various dogs and giving them 'pats'.  This is a New York phrase, and I will be adopting it with immediate effect.  

It was then to the insanity which is Times Square where we stumbled into a Cuban bar called Havana (not very imaginative).  A couple of Pina Coladas later, and we all needed feeding, so we ordered the Cuban Platter.  Even as I write now, I am still completely in the dark as to what the three flat fritters were on the plate.  All three of us tried them, and all three of us left them...I think.  After the Pina Coladas, God knows...

So we're all back, safe and sound.  

New York was fantastically daft.

We fitted in beautifully....