This is something I may do going forward that would be more in the nature of the New York Times’ Metropolitan Diary.

I was walking through the market near our flat yesterday and thought I heard Frank Sinatra music. I came around the corner and, under a tent there was this old guy with a  speaker set up and a small crowd watching. He was doing his between song patter to the crowd, and he sounded like you’re basic Cockney taxi driver. But then the canned music  started, the Sinatra music began and the accent changed to New Jersey.

We finally got our other four bags from Judie’s law firm, where they had been in storage since July. I pulled out my leather jacket, since it was starting to get chilly. I immediately went from street guys trying to sell me things to people coming up to me and ask me for directions.

Judie and I were eating the best masala dosas we had ever had when my phone rang (this was the first time this is ever happened when Judie wasn’t on the other end). It was Craig Hirshberg, who is visiting her daughter in London, inviting us to have dinner in three hours. So  we walked off the dosas and we ended up having an amazing dinner at a Hunan restaurant in SoHo.  I ordered duck tongue which was delicious, but I discovered, to my surprise that these little duck tongues actually have a bone or maybe it’s a cartilage going right through the middle. Anyway, now I can say I’ve eaten duck tongue. Judie said she was imagining little mute ducks walking around unable to quack.

Judie needed hangers so she could finally unpacked her clothes. So I trudged off to Argo’s to get her some. I’ve concluded that it is Kmart without the charm. It would be difficult to conceive any way to make the shopping experience more miserable. I’ve learned my lesson.