Last Monday, I all but told you I’d been away somewhere. And this post’s title rather gives the game away, wouldn’t you say? New York City. So good they named it twice. The Big Apple. One of my favourite cities in the world (those last three words have more impact if you say them aloud in the style of Clarkson). I went for three days. On my own.
You might be wondering why I did that (or maybe you couldn’t care less and just wish I’d tell you what I want to tell you). Put simply, it came down to two things at the end of 2017. Over the Christmas period, I was feeling extremely put upon by how much time I was spending in the kitchen, juggling pots, pans and baking trays. There was a lot of muttering about how I’d only be missed when meals failed to materialise and I’ve a good mind to go off on my own for a few days and let them get on with it. The very next day, the stars moved into alignment and I received an email from an established British airline informing me that I had enough miles for a return flight to New York. In Premium Economy.
A consultation of schedules. A firm commitment from The Brainy One to hold the fort at home. A non-refundable booking. A firm commitment to nourish myself in 2018. And that, my friends, is how I came to go to New York City.
That Mother Nature did her best to thwart my plans is a whole other story.