NYC

New York, New York it’s a helluva town…

(Manhattan Skyline from my mobile phone).

So much for posting from NYC.

The weather was great- it was warm with blue skies without the slightest hint of rain (a bit like Glasgow in June on a good year) and there I was scooting around the city. I must have walked 100 blocks a day and the last thing I was going to do was sit in a internet cafe updating Burning Salad.

I crashed at Jamie’s for a night and then lugged my stuff uptown and stayed with Trish at The ‘Grid’s place. Then things began to get hectic. Communications weren’t always the easiest, what with UK mobiles playing up and running out of juice and credit and phone numbers scribbled down on small pieces of paper. But Trish had foreseen such issues and had taken the unlikely measure of bringing a couple of walkie-talkies she somehow recently won in a raffle.

This would have allowed free communication within a 3km range without so much as having to dial a number, but for reasons unclear to me, the shiny new Motorola walkie-talkies were never called into service. But my (new and fancy) mobile phone took the opportunity to demonstrate it’s ability to choose a network at random before dropping it without warning and for no apparent reason whenever it felt like it. And so I was alternately on and off the radar at irregular intervals for the whole week. All without the hassle of having to obey a three kilometre operational radius. Ah, technology.

Despite this I always seemed to be on my way to somewhere or from somewhere else and hence it wasn’t always the most relaxing of trips. But what sort of lunatic goes to New York to relax? Not me. The week flashed past in a series of meetings up, wanderings around, drinking sessions, meeting up against, goings out, doing somethings, goings somewhere and doing something elses.

After a few nights it seemed like the most tactful idea to cease interfering with The ‘Grid’s Sex And The City schtick and so I hooked up with my pal Ollie and crashed at his place. It was great to see him again. We drank sake, hung out and amongst other things ended up a Smiths tribute night!

I also looked up my friend Charlie who I haven’t seen in ages and despite a relaxed attitude (mostly on my part) to keeping in touch it was great to pick up where we left off like we only saw each other last week. I met his girl, we ate lobster and went to see a violent film.

Art-wise there was a lot to see but little to write home about. I saw the Damien Hirst show at the Gagosian which was rubbish. And there was a big show on at PS1 with 165 artists which was also a load of rubbish. Everything else was neither here nor there apart from a show of Kippenberger self portraits I stumbled upon.

The unlikeliest thing that happened was when I was walking down the street in Chelsea, doing some gallery hopping when suddenly I heard someone shout my name. I looked up and saw someone at a window waving who turned out to be Sharon Thomas, a friend from art school. What, as they say, are the chance of that?

And so, predictably, there wasn’t enough time to fit everything in. Tempting as it was to skip the return flight and stay on as an illegal alien, far be it from me to jeopardise any future voyages to The Land Of The Free.

So here I am back in dear old Blighty, cat safely reinstalled after a week staying round the corner terrorising Duncan and Kev. I am drinking a cup of tea and there is a party political broadcast on the telly telling me that although everything is shit it could all be okay after the election depending on how I vote.