A boring day of errands in NYC

I got to that point when you’re traveling that you seriously consider wearing swimwear under your clothes instead of wasting precious time doing laundry. White-on-white was closed yesterday, so today laundry became mission critical. Today was another day of sight-seeing in my glad rags (as my mum would call them), because all of my other clothes are at white-on-white–still. I am contemplating getting them to deliver my clothes to me from across the street at 7am tomorrow so I can loll about in my robe – that would be very NYC of me wouldn’t it? But practical too – otherwise i’m going to have to put dirty clothes on to go and get my clean laundry – it doesn’t make sense.

On the advice of Dr K, I rested the bung ankle yesterday by chilling in the loft all morning with my fellow loftees M and Mr S, before venturing out in the pouring rain to Times Square for a Sunday afternoon Matinee. It’s well worth lining up for discount tickets. The line moves quickly until you get stuck behind groups of four people right at the ticket window who find out that the show they wanted to see has sold out while they are in the line and haven’t agreed on a plan B. Talk about frustrating!

I had wanted to go and see South Pacific, but according to the spruikers hovering around the line, it was sold out.I later found out from M that they always say that, but it’s not really true. Instead, I snapped up a ticket to my plan B for 40 per cent off, La Cage Aux Folles starring Kelsey Grammer (aka Frasier). It’s the French musical comedy ‘the birdcage’, you’re probably familiar with the Robin Williams movie where the gay couple play it straight to impress their conservative politician father of their daughter-in-law to be – it was hilarious, very well acted. Plus you get a one part Broadway musical two parts French riveria drag show, so lots of feathers and high-kicks all for the one low price. It was a great way to spend a rainy Sunday afternoon and I slunk back to the loft just in time for M to wait on me hand and foot with cucumber infused vodka, an ice pack and left over Indian food. I think she misses her son.

Today M left for the beach – since it was raining in NYC and all. I’m going to miss her, and the coffee, as I’ve sort of watched her do the drip filter coffee straight into the enormous buckets they call mugs here at the loft, but I’m pretty sure I’ll stuff it up tomorrow.

So I dropped the laundry in at white on white. They told to me pick it up after 6pm – what they didn’t tell me was they close at 7pm – so all my clothes except a hoodie and what I’m wearing now are across the road all locked up.

Since weather.com predicted thunderstorms all day I thought a spot of window shopping in Midtown might be a good way to keep out of the elements. I arrived at the front entrance of Bloomingdales five minutes before they raised the shutters and wandered into the massive emporium of everything lovely amid strains of Frank Sinatra’s New York, New York – it's like they knew I was coming and timed it perfectly to hit 'play' on a massive tapedeck somewhere behind the scenes. The gleaming black and white tiles and friendly staff, fresh faced for the day and not yet worn down by Italian tourists who insist on haggling over the ticket prices. Ah, retail!

After Bloomies I headed on up to Prada where despite their unhelpful attitude I treated myself to some new perfume. For the last year I’ve been saving for this trip and when I ran out of perfume three months ago I just started using using random testers , samples of whatever was going and leftovers from my trip to Grasse seven years ago (not still at it’s best). You see, I can be frugal when there’s a higher purpose involved. When it comes to breakfast foods, I’m as brand loyal as they come. Kellogs Crunchy Nut cornflakes every day for at least five years, and now Carmen’s Deluxe Fruit Museli – every morning. However, when it comes to fragrances, I’m a floozy. I rarely take home the same once twice, and now it's Prada something infused with Tuberose. Hmmm, just the scent to mask the overwhelming smell of pee in the New York subway this summer.

Even now, hours later, it still irks me that I bought something from Prada today. Five overstuffed sales assistants chatting away to eachother while I stood for five minutes at the fragrance counter being ignored. When I finally got served again, there were conversations about my drivers license photo and how it looks nothing like me. The general consensus among staff at Prada Fifth Avenue is that the short hair is ‘fun’. Hmmph.

Earlier in the week while I was performing some official duties as international photographer for French speaking tourists at the top of the Rockefeller Centre my Tiffany necklace snapped and broke. Talk about timing. So continuing with my list of errands today, I popped upstairs in the Fifth Ave store made famous by Breakfast at Tiffanys and they organized to fix it. It will be ready by 5pm today. No charge, oh, and they cleaned it so it sparkles and recommended a great place to have lunch nearby. Very helpful Tiffanys, you could teach those monkeys at Prada a thing or two. Since I couldn’t remember the zip code for Broadway downtown for the purposes of the service card, they just made my address details the same as the stores’ – if you need to mail me anything today please post it to my new address - C/O Tiffany & Co, Fifth Avenue, New York, New York.