And we're back. A small hiatus there, but I do have valid reasons - firstly, I went to New York, cos I'm just that kind of person, and as some kind of karmic retribution for actually going and having a pleasant time somewhere, I return home to find my computer has committed suicide, in that the power supply blew up and took the motherboard with it, which is apparently a rare thing to happen. Fortunately for me, my computer was not thinking clearly in its depressive last hours, and although it managed to rip out its own still-beating motherboard heart, it left its hard drive brain intact, so I've been able to give it a heart transplant which has left it quieter, faster and more powerful, much like the Bionic Man of old. But lo, my poor shiny new computer is still tormented with the rancid contents of My Documents and my favourites list and is now on permanent suicide watch, and I think I've stretched that metaphor quite long far now, thank you.
Yes, and New York was quite fabulous and snowy to boot, thank you, although all through my trip I was plagued with unoriginality. Let me explain. Oh, go on. You see, everywhere I went, and everything I looked at, I felt verily weighed down by the comments of every other person who had ever been there. I would look at the Empire State Building, at Times Square, at Ground Zero, and I would think, "There is absolutely nothing I can think or say about this sight that has not already been thought or said." That bothered me lot, I must say - mostly because I had to take my mind off the fact that it was minus 400 celsius and I was wearing everything I had packed for a four day trip all at the same time and I could still feel ice crystals forming in my bile duct, but still. It bothered me.
And now, confound it all, I can't think of anything original to say on the subject of unoriginality. I blame it on BBC Four, who have quite ruined my evening by showing a repeat of Life On Mars and thus are making me wait a further seven days to hear Philip Glenister say "Will you shut up, this is making me rather horny!" Which, if I'm not mistaken, is the funniest thing ever to be committed to the TV equivalent of celluloid, which may of course be celluloid. You'll have to excuse me. I had a dream last night that I should give up smoking, and I did for exactly 11 hours and 14 minutes, which was three fags ago, so I'm a little ashamed and on a total nicotine high.