A decompression chamber would have been useful. With a brief, delightful interlude, escaping with friends to semi-rural Pennsylvania, the intensity of New York ratcheted up and up. Away from home, transatlantic, in that great city, with that show, at a festival, attending a conference, with early morning emails and work calls home, with promoter meetings and plotting sessions and mind racing and running to see shows, it was a gloriously indulgent, selfish, focused, ten day submergence.

We concluded late and intense. The APAP conference closing party was held at the WFC Winter Gardens with us on the bill. Numbers were low but slowly, inexorably grew until it was busy and loved and raved over and, in amongst this crowd, surreally, as if to hammer home “this is an art event in NEW YORK CITY”, Lou Reed. It’s gone One when we leave, the car picks Jake, Craig and me up at Five. We fly the flight, lose travel time plus five: Heathrow to Birmingham in the dark and pissing rain. Triumphant return: Sarah, gifts, sleep and I’m thrown up on the shore, trying to rebuild my relationship with Eve, trying, with little success to persuade her to put her – or at least allow me to put her – shoes on.


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