The male bathroom had a sign taped over the top of it: the sign read ‘Women’. Even with the number of toilets increased, the line still trailed a long way outside and down the hall. We were between sessions, or at lunch, I can’t remember, and the queue moved swiftly. Once inside, there were the…
Having coffee this morning with a girlfriend, I was describing the meals we ate while away, doing my best to assert and affirm the reality that America can – in fact, does – serve up good food (good goffee – at Stumptown – is also available, you can forget Starbucks crap). The trouble was, it…
Tiffany’s is nestled next to Trump Tower. Why was I surprised at their proximity? I don’t know. For a place so full of sights and spectacles, how could I wonder at the seeming incongruities of locale, of what-is-where-and-why? We pushed our way through the rotating doors (New York is full of them, and I lived…
The small things will stay with me the most. [Although, this said, their longevity in the memory at once makes these events into something more and of deeper significance, compelling me to write about them before any other travel stories.] How I would internally call the crossing light the ‘green man’ as I do in…
And before I know it, the trip is almost over. Will be back next week x There’s the BlogHer Voices of the Year finalist banner with my post. That’s a pretty good Living List tick.
The above shot was taken from a penthouse in South Yarra on Wednesday night while a hockey game was being played under lights on the field below. The CBD is further away in the image than it appeared in real life, and this is how I’m feeling about the next week – at the moment…
I’ve not taken a flight that’s had more of a 90 minute duration in over fifteen years. So the above question may not be as rhetorical (or silly) as it first may seem. I’m between books at the moment; a sad case of timing. If I were immersed in something there would be no confusion,…
Yesterday, I went out to the garage, uhmed-and-ahhed over the few suitcases we own, brought one inside, and thus began the ‘Packing for New York’ adventures; soon to be followed by the even more adventuresome ‘Travelling to New York’. And I think I’m ready to admit I’m a little terrified. I didn’t mention in last…
Eating poached pears in winter sounds like a very, well, wintery thing to do, doesn’t it? I don’t eat a lot of fruit, truth be told, but I do enjoy a nice, juicy, soft pear. Emphasis on the soft. Crunchy pears send shivers down my back. Yuk. But cooked? I’d not done that before. So…
