2002-03-13 - 5:10 p.m.

In the words of celebrity paedophile Gary Glitter, �I don�t know HOW those pictures got on my hard drive, officer��er�.I mean, �Hello, Hello, it�s good to be back.� And given the taxi ride to the airport yesterday, it really IS good to be back, the driver insisting on taking us �the short way� which took in districts in Harlem that were sketchier than a beginner�s evening class in still life drawing. Call me old fashioned, but I enjoy a drive so much more without the lingering feeling that you�re going to be taken to some remote wasteland and introduced to the finer (i.e. more agonising) points of random street crime � though if that had been the case, we would have definitely stiffed him on the tip.

The week went swimmingly, though. What can I say about New York that hasn�t already been put to an annoyingly cheesy show tune? Any town that can afford to be this rude must be doing something right. I thought tipping was supposed to encourage customer service? In some diners, you get the feeling that if you tipped any more, they�d start to be sexually insulting about your mother for free. I asked for some blankets in the hotel and I thought they were going to deliver them in the middle of the night by holding them down tightly over my face whilst I slept. I guess it�s all part of the charm.

There are wonderful people there, though, that I will hence think of with nothing but moist affection�Friday did indeed surely see some kind of D�Land record being set, with my good self and Sebastien holding up the out of towner�s end, NY girlz Gingi, Partygirl, Achren, Sundaygirl and Amanda and Stacy (you guys - it will always be 40 o�clock in my heart), whose online names I can�t remember being privy to, the redoubtable Addieplum and Peth giving it some Joi-zey action and super Surly jetting in from Chicago. I trust it was as good for y�all as it was for me.

In a previously unthinkable development, we went ice skating in Central Park. I admirably overcame my morbid fear of falling over and losing all my fingers in a freak �fat kid out of control whilst I lie on the ice with my hands spread out� incident, and I even made it away from the barrier on more than two occasions. The amusingly weird thing is that the place is kind of ruled by a mob of hard livin� skating gangstaz, who whiz around at breakneck speeds pulling stunts with aggressive abandon and stupid facial hair. But it�s funny to me that they�re choosing to be tough and street in possibly the gayest environment you can possibly imagine. I mean, what do they call themselves? The Pirouettes (gang leader: Ice Rink)? Or maybe there are rival gangs � The Torvilles and the Deans perhaps, battling for icy turf and engaging in skate-by hot chocolate spilling. Anyway, I can now add ice-skating to my winter sports repertoire of falling over whilst skiing and being randomly pelted with snowballs by all and sundry.

But the lag they call jet is seeping through my veins like the weeks worth of alcohol that cost me about the same as starting up a mildly successful Formula One racing team, but it was well worth it. More random memories tomorrow, but now I need to sleep until they call me Rip Van Pablo.