Balls and the City

So, I am back from New York. I spent a week there on holidays with my Aussie fella so we could meet up with his parents who were visiting on a North American tour. As in a guided tour. They weren’t touring in the same way that Duran Duran tour. Although it would be awesome to have Simon Le Bon as your father-in-law. I met Simon Le Bon once. He has a big face, but his morals seemed OK. As such, I danced naked for him using a cello as a prop. It was a weird time in my life.

But away from stringed instruments and back to NYC. It was really rather wonderful. They have a summer over there involving warmth.

I also visited some Jewish delis that serve Matzo Ball soup. This is a clear soup that is more than delicious enough to slurp on its own, but some wonderful Jewish cook at some point decided that it needed jazzing up. I’m reliably informed the thought process was,

“Sure, the kids are lapping up the soup, but it’s a bit ordinary-looking. Hmm, what will make it ‘pop’? I know! I shall whack a dumpling the size of Simon Le Bon’s head in the middle!”

I think more things would benefit from the addition of a dumpling. Like pizza. Or tax returns. If HMRC sent out free dumplings for every form returned, I’d consider declaring my underground Essex arms dealership.

But balls aside, I had a charming time cycling through Central Park, wandering through The Village and greeting cab drivers with “Corner of Lexington and 43rd please, but take Madison because the traffic on 5th is God-darned awful,”

So back to London it is. And it’s not all that bad. As I write this, I can see that the depot my flat overlooks has gained another Biffa bin during my absence. Funny how life just ploughs on without you.