Spinning, marriage proposal on 3rd avenue and Californian invasion

I need to admit to someone (can't possible tell my friends) that I've been doing very little during the daylight hours, aside from trawling the local food emporiums for yummy things which have been lacking from my diet due to Prat imposed Thai diet and attending spinning classes to compensate for all those yummy things. I think I've become addicted to the spinning thing - something about the release of endorphins, communal sweating, and I guess hot instructor with bulging Lance Armstrong-like quadriceps is drawcard too.

Dined on Monday night with the Prat. Our first encounter since my mysterious disappearance from Primrose Hill. Once the Prat had returned to London and realised that several "safety-blanket" items in my life were missing - eye mask, lip balm and vibrator he politely emailed me several days later to enquire if I was in New York, LA, Sydney or Wakefield. Fair enough, although if he'd checked his BA account on-line he would have worked it out eventually. Anyway Prat was in New York and wanted to see me in order to retrieve keys to the flat in London and exchanged Sydney house keys. He particularly wanted the set I had with window locks and didn't think I'd mind. True true. We ate at Lever House in a complete papaya-salad-free zone and had a great night.

Tuesday night I went for dinner with my friend the incredibly talented Philharmonic pianist and multi-millionaire software developer. Some people are far to accomplished. Emailed said boy to check what time we were meeting. I thought it was to be 9pm but couldn't remember what he'd said at time of organising; I'd killed off a few brain cells at a cocktail party at his house which were clearly short-term memory cells - not so important really. Anyway yes, my guess had been correct. Although he then offhandedly mentioned that we were to meet in the lounge of Spice Market (latest NY Meatpacking district hotspot) at 9pm but our dinner reservation wasn't until 11pm. I'm sorry but that is just ridiculous. My protests fell on deaf ears - well actually my follow-up email, suggesting this was so went unreplied.

Hence I appeared at 9pm absolutely starving; threw back a couple of champagne cocktails to take the edge off my appetite and way-hey it worked. Suddenly it was 11pm and we were being seated. I was not so drunk to realise that this was also not the last seating. Large parties of beautiful people were being shown to their sumptuous late night zones without mugs of warm milk and cookies.

The Software Pianist, who is always delightful company was on this night somewhat nervous and ended up the most drunk I've ever seen him. We chatted about my latest London departure, my lack of job prospects, my belongings strewn across the globe and basic directionless of my life at age 30. Of course this just made his smooth-flowing successful existence all the more glaringly obvious. He was just about to close on a five million dollar, seven bedroom house in the Hamptons with Ocean and Bay views, as well as ever screaming up the charts of American's most wealthy, single and charming. I wanted to puke - and it wasn't because of the Bolly quaffing.

We finished dinner and when the bill came without complimentary comforter (duvet for those who read English not American) I realised we weren't sleeping over. Software Pianist saw me to a taxi to dispatch me home. Ever the gentleman he then insisted on traveling with me and seeing me safely to my door. OK then....

I believe at about 40th and Third Avenue he then grabbed my hand and asked me if it would be an improper time and place to ask me to marry him. Oh my god! It wasn't an actual proposal - more a testing of the waters. At least this explained his nerves - and I thought it was just his upcoming solo performance in front of Bush. Actually no one is seriously nervous in front of that man - are they?

Yesterday, after lying in bed for an inordinate amount of time, mulling over my almost proposal I: eventually rose; did some shopping - found these amazing dried but still slightly squishy strawberries - v yummy with vanilla icecream; made a marinade for chicken which entailed me spending a silly amount of time looking for fresh guava juice and ancho puree and popped off to the gym to spin.

Returning home absolutely starving, Soy Boy who I had envisaged having a romantic, simple evening at home with informed me that one of his mother's best friends from high school, her two friends and one of these friend's son's were coming for dinner! They were all flying into NY from LA, arriving at about 7.30pm and would be with us by 9pm. Fucking hell another late night dining experience ahead of me but without marriage proposal, phew.

So, it's now Thursday afternoon and once again I'm still wandering around in my knickers with unbrushed hair. Teeth are clean and flossed and I've also managed to scrape blue cheese remnants off kitchen floor, pack the dishwasher (feel I'm easing into domesticity) and make list (thank you again Prat) of things which I need to pick up on the way home from spinning for supper tonight, which is also involving a number of Californians (not the same ones) amongst other imports.

Dinner last night with all the Californians was absolutely delightful, even if son of friend was a little kooky. He'd just returned from 10 days in Australian outback making a cross between The Bachelor and Survivor and had fallen in love with the Australian make-up artist. He is now busy planning the rest of their lives together in Melbourne. Yes, he was v nice, but I know Australian women and my guess is this kook is going to prove a little tooo Californian. He also confessed to having to break up with his Romanian girlfriend tonight who conveniently for the Australian angle is docking today on the Queen Mary(??). He'd met that love of his life on the cruise ship as he sat across from her dealing on the Black Jack table; Australia chick was probably less-than thrilled when he received a phone call from his fiancee and it was broadcast over tannoy to entire film crew; but then again love is blind.