Manhattan Skyline

This will for all future be known as "The day when my dear husband missed his once-in-a-lifetime chance of being interviewed by The New York Times". Sitting in the reception of what has seemed to be the centre of the universe, at least the US media universe, over the last 48 hours, we were approached by a man.

As he walked by, he casually whispered to Mr. Incredible: "Psst. I am from The New York Times. Were you here on Saturday?" My husband could confirm that. Then - "You did not happen to. See. HIM. Did you?" He pointed to a picture of "Le Perv" inside The Wall Street Journal open in Mr. I's lap. As Mr. I is one of the most honest people I know, he said "No?" and the journalist was gone. As quickly as he had appeared. He sort of floated through the reception, talking and moving at the same time. Swoooosh.

So, instead of being interviewed by a journalist, my poor husband had to stick to the initial plan for the day. Going shopping with yours truly. NOT his favorite pastime, I'll tell you. Spending the day at a brand outlet outside NY, in Woodbury. The poor, poor man. He had not even had his breakfast.

Our marriage survived three hours of heavy shopping, though. Unbelievable. And I learnt a lesson, the hard way, about how complicated American bed linen can be. Sheets are not just sheets. Very confusing.

Our last evening of this American adventure was spent in Brooklyn. At The River Café. With a view of the bridge, and foggy Manhattan. Extraordinary food.

And, of course, I forgot to take a picture of the famous Manhattan Skyline. So you will have to do with one of the bridge, in the chocolate cake version. And some poetry by my fellow countrymen, A-ha:

We sit and watch umbrellas fly,
I'm trying to keep my newspaper dry.
(...)
On the front page
a black and white picture of
Manhattan Skyline

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