Thursday, September 22, 2011



Had to get this picture for you yesterday whilst on school safety patrol. All the school moms take it in turns, via a rota, to walk around the blocks near the school for an hour after it finishes, just to make sure there are no kids in trouble/having an accident/taking drugs. Actually, probably not the last bit that's just my natural British cynicism oozing out... I took the above pic after coming across this little menagerie outside Bloomingdales. (Our safety walk takes us past Bloomies and Barneys which is unfortunate because we have to wear fluorescent green, motorway-repairman jackets).

My friend Angela, walking with me, pointed out that the puppy beneath the guinea pigs was a toy. A bit disappointing really because it certainly looked like a sweet little sleeping puppy. The man in charge was trying to encourage the cats to perform some kind of dance which of course, they refused to do. The puppy just pulled on it's leash in quite a sad way. Although there was a hat to drop money into, not many people bothered because a) it wasn't really enough of a spectacle on it's own and b) none of the creatures were actually doing anything entertaining. Unlike another school mom friend of mine who has run away to LA to become a lingerie model and entertainer. She's the same age as me, so watch this space for some exciting new self-portaits soon in my bid to relaunch my own career as a bikini-fitness instructor and Face of Fashion..

By the way, watched the movie 'Bridesmaids' last night.  Absolutely no relation to the trailer at all, an entirely different movie in the end, about a sad un-believeable, un-real, slightly-elderly woman. Better than 'The Help' though, as in 'Give me The Help I need to get out of this cinema.'

Tuesday, September 20, 2011


I know, as in my last post, I am prone to sweeping generalisations. Left unchecked, they run riot around my brain, sometimes bursting out as can be seen on this blog.

It's jolly good then, that I am an Expert on all Subjects, according to my best friend Jane WK who is one too. My husband also agrees and this reminds me of a joke, wish I could remember where I heard it. Somewhere on excellent BBC Radio 4 I believe - in fact it was....someone was reading out a spoof advert that went like this:

One full set of Encyclopedia Britannica. One careful male owner, no longer needed due to MARRIAGE.


What in the Goddess's name has come over the American media? The collective hatred aimed at Paz de L'Huerta after her appearance at the dull, tedious, probably-fixed Emmys was so vitriolic, reading it all burned my eyeballs.

Paz does not conform to the Prom Queen ideal pedalled by the American media in it's entirety, therefore, like a collection of mean girls in the gym, all the female writers here have decided to Hate Her. Paz is nothing like Jennifer Anniston or the red-headed girl in the worst film of the year 'the Help' as in 'give me the help I need to get out of this cinema'.  Paz stalks around the place in her high heels, sneering at the Prom committee members while their boyfriends openly drool. Playing a broken character in Boardwalk Empire gives Paz the kudos many Prom Queens and Jocks dream of before it's secretly drummed out of them in college and beyond.

What's happened to America? People are lamenting the demise of the economy, employment and all the key social issues but I say, get your cultural house in order. This is the country that gave us Eartha Kitt, Lena Horne, Shirley Mclaine,  Lou Reed, Patti Smith, Lux Interior, the B52s, KD Lang, Lady GaGa, Kathy Bates and tons of other quirky-but-beautiful in their own way people of creative interest. Popular culture here is closing back down into a 1950s mentality, where cheesy blondes with big teeth are the winners and everyone else has to sit on the bleechers, or whatever those things where all the High School losers are forced to sit are called...

Friday, September 16, 2011


Ordering in a take out breakfast has got to be one of the very best things about living in NYC.  It seems like the height of decadence to many Brits who live here but it's a local tradition I've been happy to embrace. My husband doesn't know this. We have neighbours on the 7th floor who he calls 'The people who order in breakfast'. She's in showbiz......ANYWAY, he has no idea that I too, love an order-in brekky.  Especially after staying up too late the night before carousing with Upper West Side Jewish Lesbians. (Their title for themselves, not mine).

Incidentally, I went out with a group of local pals who took me to the most fabulous NY resto I have ever been in, five blocks from our apt. It's called Ouest and Mad Men episodes have been filmed there...glorious wood, red leather booths and 50s lights. The place has the kind of old-world NY ambience it is so hard to find, just fabulous.  Can't believe I've never husband takes out of towners there, now I know why he drags all those Italians and Aussies uptown. The only flaw - patrons can't smoke. In my opinion,  a smoky atmosphere would seal the deal. Unlike in Moscow, where smoking is compulsory everywhere. We went there in the summer...I didn't want to smoke that much in fact but all that smokey ambience everywhere was very cool. Actually I hated Moscow but more of that another time.

Meanwhile, the dog is going to the grooming salon for the first time today. She will hate it but she has rolled in the shite of a woodland creature in the park this morning so she must suffer.  She is such a dirty bitch!! The stink is overwhelming and we made the elevator uninhabitable for a half hour when we returned to the apartment, according to the doorman. Here's a pic of her, I won't let her leave her bed until we go out, STINKY COW!

Today it's glam, order-in brekkies one minute, stinking pooh dogs the next, sort of like life.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011


Did anyone else watch the ABC Jackie show last night?

The tapes of Former First Lady Jackie sounded, dare I say it, a little spooky. Speaking in a soft, slightly shuzzy voice (similar to Maz Monroe, Judy Garland and Liza Minelli) from beyond the grave, lots of her comments were surprisingly bitchy. No-one wants to completely bury the past but I might have edited out the bit where she called Mrs Gandhi a 'prune'. Ditto the bits about MLK (Martin Luther King)....

Such stuff makes riveting TV and it was interesting to hear how human, funny and candid JKO could be. The Legend of Jackie is guarded over so fiercely by the Kennedys though that by revealing not just her strengths but many of her weaknesses, I'm wondering about the overall effect of these tapes on Jackie's sometimes pristine reputation.

Not wondering too much though as there's plenty for me to be worrying about in modern, real time...and maybe nobody really cares that much about Jackie and co anymore except immediate family. (sympathy & respect to them BTW).

Perhaps that's the real Curse of the Kennedys.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

24 Minute Party People

Instead of posting a picture of my son's leg it's best for all of us if we move swiftly on. After spending yesterday finding him at school, going to the doctor's, the blood lab, the pharmacy, back to the pharmacy, back to school...I was exhausted. He's fine and the Thing is healing nicely now thanx to tons of antibiotics which I know my best friend Jane WK would not approve of but let's all move into the 21st Century shall WE?

SO, I'm staying in again tonight with the TV - not so different from going out in NYC.  'Why?' You ask and I'll tell you. A typical night out for me happened a few days ago and it went like this:

4.30 pm: Shower and shave (my legs you numpties )
4.40 pm: Facial massage (DIY, gets rid of bags and lumps) Blow-dry and make-up using only the finest ingredients
6.00pm: Dress and accessorize then remove half Argue with children over take-out food (they must eat the spagbol I have also, by the way, prepared) and do homework. They don't want to. Get in taxi
6.45pm: Arrive at party, smoke fag on pavement. Enter party, shake hands and kiss relevant folk, have picture taken with celebrity and other guests, see a lovely friend and her daughter, talk to them, meet some VIP PRs, scream that I am English and MUST HAVE A DRINK (it's a fashion party so there is barely a drop of drink or a scrap of food, no-one seems bothered anyway). Drink the drink. Leave in taxi Arrive back home, argue over homework with children, assume horizontal position on sofa with take-out sushi

And that, my friends is a pretty typical New York night out. The point is to see and be seen, touch face with the relevant/right people, try and get some kind of photographic evidence you did this, then move on. In my case it was home to chivvy teens but it could have been dinner somewhere exotic (only very occasionally thanx to TightWad husband and dirth of good, fun-primed-pals) or possibly another party.

Hi diddle di-dhum!

Monday, September 12, 2011


So this morning I'm thinking: 'Just get to school, off you go, yes bye bye' etc while planning a back-to-life day for myself.

At the last minute, as he's about to leave my eldest says "Mum, I've got something on my leg".  Bearing in mind he has had all weekend and in fact, the rest of his previous life to show me the Thing on his Leg, I bite this info back and try to be patient and calm as I take a look. When I see the Thing though, I scream that he is now like Henry VIII and a fat lot of good his leg boil did him. My boys are so well-versed in Tudor history that they know all about KH8's superating leg ulcer. Indeed, it was Katharine Parr's ability to soothe and remove the pain of it that got her down the aisle, apparently. Anyway, my boy has something big, blacky-red and poisonous on his shin. He wanted to go to school as much as I wanted him to go, so after dowsing the Thing in iodine and covering with a big band aid, I sent him off.

Ever since (5 hours ago) the Thing has haunted me. I told a dogwalking pal about it, a highly sensible career women whose life is a monument to Good Decisions, she said "Get him to the doctor, things like bites or nastiness can be worse here, especially if it's a bite from the country". So, ever since I've been phoning the school  nurse, the school, him and our doc. The day has turned out to be all about the Thing and it's not over yet. I still haven't spoken to my son, but I'm about to go off to the East Side and find him. We will then go to the dox, I will then go off to the chemist for the big prescription thing. He will have to come with me, in order to get some drugs down him......

So no novel writing today. Watch this space for a photo of the Thing, coming up tomoz xxx

Saturday, September 10, 2011


Never mind the show, who's in the audience?

NY Fashion week is upon us once more. Just down the road from our apt at the Lincoln Center. This means I need dark glasses to get to and from Whole Foods. Don't want to get all glammed up just to shop, on the other hand, don't want to bump into between-the-show fashionettes. Got caught out last time while moving a load of stuff from my apt into storage downtown. On the way, our truck stopped at the traffic lights, I was sitting up front with Melvyn and Hupelo-the-movers, when a crowd of London girls stepped out in front of us. Wrong moment for me to wave or be noticed at all so I sat very still. One of the girlies looked back and straight into the cab at me. Did she recognise me? Hopefully not, or if she did I'm hoping she just thought 'That scruffy old removal woman looks exactly like Sarah Kennedy'. 

Anyway, far more interesting than the NY Spring collections is who's in the audiences at the shows. So far, a parade of disappointing Z listers. Ashley Tisdale(?) and Lea Michele? I'm sorry but I like my fashion shows super-elite, brimming with superstars or total trendsters and devoid of reality TV/Disney characters. FNO here on Thursday night was a riot of Z NQOTDs... from the afore mentioned Tisdale to  Kim-nothing-fashionable-about-her-Kardashian. 

A couple of years ago NY's fall fashion week felt like the centre of the fashion planet but all that has changed. Desperation is in the air. Publicity for publicity's sake is centre stage and the cultural bloggers and commentators high fashion depends on are sidelined in favour of the kind of reality TV stars who never used to be allowed anywhere near the dear old tents.  The clothes seem somehow less exciting too. What's happened?