Purpose

Wherever I am, I am always searching for some kind of purpose, or larger reason for being there. For some reason, I always feel like I need to create some kind of job.

This feeling is especially apparent in New York, city of purpose, where everyone has a reason for being here – sometimes two. The other night I went to a Moth Story Slam in Manhattan and three of the storytellers were aspiring actors – but one was also a bellhop,  and another was also a salesperson in a yoga shop. New Yorkers all have a purpose – you can tell just by the speed they walk at. I, however, do not have a purpose in New York City, although I walk fast all the same. My only aim is not to be an irritating tourist all the time.

When I was looking through my photographs I realised that I've been taking lots of images of New Yorkers doing things. Amy's Bread bakers kneading their dough in Chelsea Market, serious guys playing handball in Chinatown, purposeful batsmen waiting for their turn in serious baseball games in Central Park. People with purpose.

Asparagus

Lately, we realised that Ben is only ever really happy when he gets to cook things. This of course mystifies me completely, as I never really feel the need to cook anything at all, but all the same, we decided that in this city of amazingly priced (and delicious) eating out, we would see if we could try to do some amazingly priced eating in for a change.

The Union Square Market is a feel-good kind of place I think, especially when the sun comes out. The farmers get to sell without a middleman, the buyers get to buy without a middleman and also get the added bonus of making the farmers happy, while the produce you can buy there is incredibly good. 

Little dogs padded around, a stallholder called me over to chat about my AE-1 (which was nice, although initially I thought he was going to tell me off for photographing the flowers he was selling), baskets were filled with amazing things and there were lots of virtuous paper bags everywhere. It's a world away from the double-bagging-addicted supermarket down the street from our apartment in Bushwick.

Anyway, it seems it is asparagus season at the moment. So that's what we bought. We also bought some San Francisco sourdough bread, as I read somewhere (annoyingly I can't remember where) that the natural yeast in the air in San Francisco makes the best sourdough starter and the tastiest loaf. I can't vouch for how San Franciscan this loaf really was, given that we are coasts apart, but it was easily the nicest sourdough I've had.

So we ate in. Asparagus and poached eggs and sourdough and butter, and it was delicious, and quite grounding. The number of mac & cheese variations that I am yet to try out might put a stop to it for now though – you just can't get mac & cheese like the mac & cheese in New York.

The Brooklyn Way

My uncharacteristic over-planning paid off, and I made it to New York. I like it here.

I'm here for a while, so it should be less frantic than a typical New York 'holiday', but still, it's hard to get out of the holiday habit of walking too far, for too long, and feeling overwhelmed by all the things you want to do that you haven't done.

I'm in the holiday habit at the moment however, so I'm running around all over the place. One place I'm so glad I did run into though was Cafe Habana in Brooklyn (found via Kate), which was lovely, and made me seriously reconsider my general dislike of sweetcorn. A foggy walk over the Brooklyn Bridge, though incredibly touristy, was so impressive.

It amazes me how raw everything feels here, despite being worn down by the heels of so many tourists and so many locals for so long, while the amount of choice makes me realise how narrow things can often be in England. One of the reasons I wanted to come here for so long was to look at things from a completely different perspective, and to give myself enough time away from my real life to process it all. The perspective kicked in the minute I arrived – the thinking time, hopefully, will happen soon.

Preparations

I always used to be quite blasé about travelling. When I was at school, and the time came to take a flight back home to Islay, the tutors would drop me off at the airport hours and hours ahead of time and leave me there (I usually insisted). 

I made a bit of a project of it. I'd sit for ages and watch people using airports – where they tripped up or did something they weren't supposed to, or got the procedures wrong – and eventually, probably aged 14, I was pretty sure I had airports down. Since then, I've consistently left everything to the last possible moment, booked the last remaining seat left on a crucial bus, ignored all paperwork and been confronted with a woefully unsuitable selection of clothes when I opened my suitcase.

Perhaps it's because I haven't left the country for three years, or perhaps it's the length of time I'm going away for this time, but for the last few weeks, I've been preparing like mad.

Unfortunately for my poor bank balance, this has usually involved acquiring things – but it's nice to think that being prepared doesn't just mean paperwork. One thing I'm so pleased to have in time for this trip is this Canon AE1 (top). Ben mentioned to his dad that I had been after one for a while, he happened to be going to an auction the day after and there it was. I'm looking forward to getting to know it a little better while I'm away. 

My other (possibly slightly optimistic) favourite thing I've acquired recently are the amazing Swedish Hasbeen-esque clogs (second picture), which I hope I get an opportunity to wear. These aren't Hasbeens though, they're from Lotta from Stockholm (so they're much cheaper).

I  have a new passport, travel insurance, guide books, other books, currency in advance and have even considered the possibility of a practice suitcase pack. I think my 14-year-old self would probably roll her eyes and disown me.

Friday

At the end of this seriously hectic week, I'm definitely in need of a cocktail this evening, and I've been thinking about this one ever since Ben and I made it as part of the cocktail masterclass we did in London while we were there. 

It's seriously tasty, kind of like apple pie in a glass (which doesn't sound that great, I suppose, but it really is lovely). I wrote down the recipe as we went as it's so easy – now it can fix Fridays for everyone.

Apple Pie Cocktail (not its official name)

1 shot gin
1 shot cinnamon syrup
1 shot lime juice
2 shots cloudy apple juice
slice of apple

Pour all the shots into a cocktail shaker and fill with ice. Shake away until the metal is cold, then strain into a cocktail glass. (To make the apple garnish, slice the apple thinly, then put a cocktail stick through the corner and fan out.)

Twee Forgive Me

This long weekend I was able to get up to London for the first time in an age (probably a year) and it was lovely – like someone else's life entirely, although one I'd be quite happy to take on. 

The main reason for our trip was to go and see the David Hockney exhibition at the Royal Academy with Ben's parents and then to wander round the corner to have lunch right at the top of the National Portrait Gallery, with its incredible rooftop views across London.

It really was all quite spectacular, and I hope to write more on the exhibition, and exhibitions in general, another day (once I've sorted out my thoughts about them). 

The other reason for our trip was that Ben had been given an 'experience' as a Christmas gift, part of which involved a very indulgent afternoon tea featuring all of the terribly twee things (macaroons, teacups etc) that years ago I promised myself I would generally try to avoid featuring in blog posts. I suppose it had to happen sometime though, and it was Easter...

I'm actually not sure that I've ever had a real full afternoon tea before, and I'm equally unsure whether I would ever need to have one again, but it was all terribly photogenic, and actually I'm afraid I just couldn't help myself. 

Blog Fog

Typically, I finally manage two posts in one week, and then get snowed under the next (not literally, thankfully) and manage none at all. One day I will be a regular two posts a week girl.

Nothing though, not even a pressing deadline (especially not a pressing deadline actually), gets me out of bed in the morning the way spying a foggy dawn through the curtains does. 

I've always been a bit fascinated by fog, since the days of waiting for the primary school bus and running from one patch of lawn to the other patch and feeling confused that the fog around me didn't look the same as it did when I saw it from a distance. 

I think I like weather that makes a place look like a different place: snow, huge heaving storms, summer downpours that turn streets into temporary rivers, and fog, which seems to make my little part of Bristol look like a little patch of Dickensian London, everywhere you turn.