Wow! After years of talking about bollocks, I now find myself writing a breaking news current affairs blog. I AM IN THE PATH OF HURRICANE SANDY. I AM IN MANHATTAN. I am one of millions of people who have spent today getting candles and water and crisps and possibly quite a lot of cheese too, cos I love cheese innit. Oh god I love cheese. Anyway, just like Fran, my protagonist in The Greatest Love Story of All Time, I suddenly find myself lined up to report on a major news event.
Unlike Fran I am not going to start punching the air and hissing to my male companion that this is really exciting. I love Fran, but she is a bit of a cock at times.
So yuhh…. I admit I was tempted to write a silly blog about it but I think that would be a little disrespectful. It’s quite serious. It’s all you can see on the TV here at the moment – although of course American news is focusing only on the fact that a hurricane is soon to hit the States’ busiest metropolitan area; it is seemingly uninterested in the fact that, at the time of writing, 65 people have died in the Caribbean. Probably more will lose their lives – the ones who didn’t, like me, have the luxury of spending today buying water and candles and food. And who don’t, like me, have a nice flat in Chelsea to stay in.
The Man and I, finding ourselves with an unexpected week more in New York, have moved to The Man’s friend’s apartment in Chelsea. Our host tells us that this area was once the gay centre of New York but, like everywhere else, it got too expensive. Apparently the Gay Village is now Hell’s Kitchen and Chelsea is home to the wealthy and a gaggle of ageing gays. I like that. A retirement village, if you will.
Our place in Brooklyn was brilliant because it had a dog and Brooklyn is just totally awesome but for reasons I probably can’t disclose on a public blog it was not the most relaxing place to stay. So I am rather happy to be in this lovely, calm apartment. And I’m deeply, almost sexually happy to be on Manhattan. I definitely love Brooklyn and if I ever manage to live here, I’ll live there… but, oh man. (hattan.) I love it here so much.
Our preparations have been extensive. Locals and expats alike tell me that the American authorities like to go completely over the top and so we have been told to buy supplies fit to last us for ten days. TEN DAYS? What is this hurricane? Armageddon?
People are taking it seriously, though. Ish. The local (very posh) supermarket was heaving today; people wheeling their chi chi baskets over other peoples’ feet; fights breaking out over the soya milk; the deli counter plundered. The queues were twenty minutes long and by the time we left there was a queue out of the front door. I’m not kidding! They had to put a security man on there to operate a one in, one out policy. A couple turned up with suitcases. ‘We shop here all the time,’ shouted the wife, who was wearing a fur coat. ‘Let us in.’ The security guard declined. Fur coat’s husband was less rude but more afraid. ‘Is there any food left in there?’ he asked anxiously.
Pictured here is our little stash.
And then, tomorrow, it’ll be here. If I don’t blog I am probably not dead but you’re nonetheless allowed to post comments telling me I was your favourite ever writer.