Swingers

Call a doctor I think I’m ill. You see, I’m not sure I’m a real tourist anymore. We’ve been here four nights already and we haven’t been to Times Square, Grand Central or climbed any tall buildings. Ok there was the Statue of Liberty but is that a building? Maybe I’m a hypochondriac. After all yesterday afternoon we did go to Macy’s, aimlessly wandered around, considered buying some genuine 100% shite with MACY'S stamped on it, and then came to our senses. I’m not sure I even like Macy’s anymore. Gone are most of the wooden escalators. The food court is gone. Santa is gone. The bargain handbag section is gone.  I did note they do have quite the selection of men’s underwear. 

• Trunks for average gentleman.
• Briefs for gentleman of a certain age,
• Jock straps for strapping jocks. Only Americans need apply.
• And.. and… Y backed thongs. Now this is not to be confused with Y fronts. Your front Y is to facilitate unfettered access to a gentleman’s frontage in times of need. This I think most people understand. Now Y backs… that’s a completely different ball game. The vertical stick on the Y I believe just slots right in to the appropriate male slot or crack as it is known. The top of the Y seems to merely provide an arrow pointing to the deep crevasse that search and rescue teams should look into for lost hikers. 

Anyway I didn’t buy any pants, so your pervie thoughts of me in Y backed skidders will need to wait for another day. Instead we made our excuses and left, much to the little lady's relief. 

The rest of our day was the definition of dull. Shopping for stuff we didn’t need then a crafty little nap lasting until like 8pm. There then followed a panicked jog to the local artisan pizza restaurant for some stone fired Italian delight. Our waiter for the night was Luigi. He was from Queens, but his parents, parents, parents, parents once drove a Fiat. So he was 100% Italian. He oozed sex appeal. THIS was the sort of man who wore Y backed skidders to impress the ladies.  His sex appeal didn’t work on me. Although I was quite taken with his dough balls.

Soon, using my amazing powers I made my pizza disappear. As the evening came to a close, we accidentally ordered the most calorific dessert on the menu. It was basically; another pizza but this time topped with a gallon of molten chocolate. I think I might actually physically explode at the end of this holiday. 

Wednesday morning arrived with some level of regret. My bowels felt like the M6 just north of Birmingham. Heavily congested and full of the anger and frustration that comes from living for 50+ years in an industrial wasteland, surrounded by brummies. Either that or they were full of partially digested American breakfasts, burgers and pizza. Yes yes this is the American way. But the American way is quite literally full of shit. 

There was a solution but it wasn’t going to be pretty. Hidden, quite literally underground at Columbus Circus is a place of evil that so far has managed to escape the ire of the 47th President of the United States.  Whole Foods. They do stuff that is only talked about in hushed tones in a society living in fear. Yes my friends they sell fruit and indeed vegetables. And by vegetables Eugene I do not mean bloody fries!!  

As we left the hotel, we walked past our usual breakfast diner. We turned to each other and exchanged glances. We knew that sleeping with someone else was wrong but it felt so right! Maybe we’d somehow divide the guilt. She’d only have vegetables, I’d only have fruit. Soon we arrived at the shop entrance. The security guard nodded at us but said nothing. He knew what we were here for. He knew our dirty little secret. As soon as we had descended into this dungeon of iniquity we were surrounded by temptation. From Melons to Kumquats … they could seemingly sate the desire of every man and woman in New York. There was nothing wrong with it. We were all consenting adults. There was nothing to be ashamed of. Mrs Steve looked at me for reassurance as she grabbed a particularly large banana…. 

Wow… blog overboard! 

My breakfast for the day consisted of pineapple, yoghurt and an orange drink. The label read:

ORGANIC MORNING ORANGE

A COLD PRESSED BLEND OF ORANGE, CARROT, GINGER, TURMERIC & LEMON JUICES. 

This was the first thing I tried. All of those component parts you’ll be surprised to know I had consumed before. Yes, probably in a curry or a cake. But healthy food comes in many guises. Anyway, no word of a lie, this was the single most disgusting thing to pass my lips since I admitted that West Brom had once “played quite well” against the Wolves.  I held my nose and downed half the bottle. The little boy had to take his medicine to make his tummy well again. Followed by having a ton of fresh pineapple the memory of the drink soon faded. 

I was almost looking forward to the Icelandic yoghurt. “Thick in protein not sugar” that’s a promise that holds nothing for your average fat American. Oh and it delivered! It also was rank, a hint of coconut did nothing to improve the congealed fucking cow juice. What is the market these people are aiming for??? What sort of perverts!!!? I’d come to this place expecting some innocent, car keys in the fruit bowl, swingers fun. I didn’t expect some sort of perverse BDSM torture chamber.  You will be impressed to learn I did actually finish my yoghurt. Never underestimate how you can improve food with just a small handful of chocolate coated raisins! One of your five a day, and possibly the most healthy of your other four essential chocolate treats! 

“What did Mrs Steve have for her healthy breakfast?” I hear you cry. Noodles and vegetable spring rolls. I punched her. 

As our cultural trip to the big apple comes to a close. We found ourselves in Washington Square Park. Yet another international burial ground for the mother in law. This wasn’t a planned visit or indeed internment. We happened to be wandering through the park and came upon a statue of Giuseppe Garibaldi. Famous Italian general credited with bringing about the unification of Italy. Seeing this prompted the little lady to once more whip out her IKEA sandwich bag of fun. “But why???” I questioned as she unceremoniously dumped some dust behind a bench. Did my mother in law have a keen interest in Italian history? Nooo! “She always liked a Garibaldi biscuit!”  Sigh.

Walking on a bit further we came to the Washington Square Arch.  Here no doubt to amuse all the Americans who don’t hold passports and can’t be arsed to go all the way to Vegas to see the ‘real’ Arc de Triomphe!  I snap a picture and send it to a colleague with the words “Arc de Trump” … hilarious.

The quotation engraved on the south parapet below the cornice is from Washington’s speech to the Constitutional Convention held in Philadelphia in 1787: “Let us raise a standard to which the wise and honest can repair. The event is in the hand of God.”

Seizing on the phrase “Hand of God” he quipped back.. probably should be the “Arc de Maradona" After the infamous incident in the 1986 World Cup. 

It was kind of poetic, if not massively inappropriate that at this point having just committed part of my mother in law to eternity in this park he reminded me of Peter Shilton’s quote after the sad passing of Maradona. 

“You can cheat, but you can’t cheat death, you cheating little ****!”

Oh dear… you’ve ruined a special moment and defiled my mother in law’s memory Richard. You should be ashamed. 

Post Script: Following the previous shocking revelations earlier about me eating fruit. I have just woken to find a box of half finished cheese covered fries next to my bed. 

“Do you make things up for your blog Steve?” Hahahhahahaha nope!  

And yes… I did eat the fries.. at 5am.