I have been slack at blogging the last few days. I was away in Connecticut and obviously there is no internet there of any sort. There never has been, it’s like a State policy or something.
I guess the actual truth is that I’ve just been having ALL THE FUN and keep being naughty and pretending I can’t hear myself every time I tell myself to write a blog.
It’s been so magical – stunning drives through villages and towns with clapboard houses and beautiful little white churches – several marshy places that seemed so familiar that I couldn’t stop myself bellowing the theme song from Dawson’s Creek and searching the old wooden jetties in case Joey and Pacey were making out… We went to an olde inn (truly old, by US standards) and there were nice ladies playing instruments and a beardy man with a banjo… And we also slightly gatecrashed a wedding in the stunning town of Mystic, but that’s another matter.
Those of you who follow me on Facebook and Instagram and twitter and whatnot (GAHHHH INSTAGRAM! PLEASE CAN PEOPLE STOP BLOODY WELL INVENTING THESE THINGS? They are very time consuming! Thank you.) Er, anyway, those of you who very kindly follow me on those things will also see that I was flown to Martha’s Vineyard in a PRIVATE PLANE – I shit you not – which then flew Marge and I back to NYC after, oh, you know, just a casual flight down the Hudson River. No words to describe how magical that was. Although I was very nearly sick when Marge’s boyfriend (owner of said plane) did a tight circle round the Statue of Liberty. But I once got carsick on the back of an elephant so there’s no helping me.
Oh and my lovely publishers couriered my BEAUTIFUL NEW BOOK to me as soon as it arrived in from the press and it’s just stunning. I’m so proud of it!
So, it’s all been really quite extraordinary. I am such a lucky Robinson.
I thought it was a perfect trip until yesterday, when my American literary agent tried to actually kill me. She dressed it up as a friendly invitation to an exercise class that has become an NYC craze, and I thought, oh, how nice! Not only does she represent my rights in North America but she also wants to welcome me to her city!
I was wrong. She just wanted to kill me off. After half an hour of the class I found myself wishing she’d just got a hit man or something; it would have been a lot easier. The class is based around a ballet barre but it’s not ballet, or even ballates, which some of you may have heard of. It’s a full body toning/death class involving squashy footballs, stretchy elastic bands, mats and weights. IT IS ALSO A KILLER. The pretty blonde assassin who ran the class was being all lovely and encouraging but she must have known her instructions could only lead to the untimely death of fat old biffers like me. (I was a very fat, very old, very biffery biffer compared to the women in that room let me tell you.)
Her encouragement was everything you’d hope for in an American fitness class. ‘GORGEOUS!’ She kept shouting. ‘YOUR MOVES ARE LOOKING SOOOO GREAT!!!’ From my position curled up on the floor in the corner of the room I couldn’t quite agree. Her best was ‘KEEP GOING TIL THOSE TRICEPS ARE SHAKING! YEAH, SHAKING! THAT’S AN EARTHQUAKE WE REALLY WANNA MAKE, YEAH?!’
No. It was not an earthquake I really wanted to make. I wanted to die. Do you hear me? I wanted to die!
My agent said I was a natural. She’s a crafty one, I tell you. Will need to keep an eye on her.
Anyway, when I left, weak of limb and short of breath, what should I spy but the Cronut queue! As many of you will know, I accepted challenges earlier in this trip to try bizarre, wonderful or frankly disgusting American snacks. I went to SoHo one lunchtime to buy a cronut but was told they sell out by 8.30. ‘Come at around 7am,’ the bakery man said.
I snorted derisively. I am not the sort to queue at 7am for baked goods.
So, I got in the queue yesterday for baked goods. I couldn’t help myself. Marge and I had tried a non-patented vegan cronut a few days before and it had been fucking disgusting – we needed the real deal. And there I was, in SoHo, at the crack of arse. I mean dawn. Reeling with pain from the class, and shivering with post muscle-destruction cold, I waited for more than an hour… And got the penultimate two! Here, finally – FINALLY – is what happened!
(keep scrolling down for the video…)