New York. Sunday morning.

622

It is cold and grey. The cann collectors are out, marching up and down the streets, collecting cans froma ll the bins. Apparently they live off the money they get from recycling them. I have been in Starbucks checking my emails. it is open at 7am on a sunday. Wild.

There is an interesting fashion thing here. Jean. Jeans. More jeans, then jeans. Every conceivable style, fit, length and colour, as long as they are jeans. I don’t own a pair of jeans, but somehow I don’t feel compelled to buy any. The other accessory is Hunter wellies. Youngish women wear them. All colours, marching up and down the avenues of New York in Hunter wellies. Sweaty feet abound, I should think.

I am on my way to the Metropolitan Pavillion for The Make Up show. My assistant cancelled at 8.30 last night. I decided it was pointless getting pissed off. It will not change the situation. I will just deal with it today. I am looking forward to my retirement more and more. I long to shed this identity, although I had a long conversation with a delightful make up artist who I have been friendly with over the years. it turned out that he was younger than me, but the work I had done in the 80’s had been the reason why he went into make up. I told him I was retiring. He could not get why I would do that. Am I just supposed to keep doing it just because I can?

More and more I think the idea of a yoga for recovery centre is a good idea. I want Baptiste to think it is a good idea and get involved as well. It would mean raising millions of pounds, but that does not seem insurmountable. I will think on it. I imagine I will have time in the next few days. There is an extreme stillness and aloneness that has come over me. Moments with other people, then off again. Alone and walking for hours. The person I am staying with is due back today. I have no idea if he will return. I am somewhat bored by his total dysfunction, but I know I should be grateful for having somewhere to stay, but I hate to be beholden. Again, the independant streak. ANd the stillness and time to think and meditate will vanish into the presence of another.