Last night, the humidity was so thick that you felt you needed a special knife to carve out a chunk of clean air to breathe. Either that or the personal air-conditioner I'd seen at Sharper Image earlier in the day. It sits on your neck looking like a high-tech neck-brace and sends chilled air shooting down your back and up your head, or so they claim.

My old friend John Paul picked me up from my hotel at nine, and we headed down town for dinner. John Paul was pretty much the first person I met when I moved to San Francisco. I'd tried to pick him up in a Brazilian bar by asking him for a cigarette, and our friendship had taken off very fast from there, based on a strong mutual interest in sitting in cafes and yakking. Since he moved, first to Los Angeles, and now back to New York to be close to his extensive Italian- American family, we've seen less of each other. But, whenever we meet our conversation resumes right were we left it.

We went to one of my favorite restaurants, Tea and Sympathy, on Greenwich Avenue. It's an English restaurant. Before you shudder, you should know that English puddings are the best in the world, and that's why I go there. I won't even attempt to defend the remainder of British cusine, but as for our puddings now...! The place is kitschy to the extreme, and run by two frazzled English ladies who sound just like Patsy and Eddie. I just devoured my apricot crumble and custard!

Dinner with John Paul in Tea and Sympathy (look at the teapots in the background!)

After dinner, we waded through the humidity up Eighth Avenue, to try to find somewhere pleasant to go for a drink, but couldn't find anywhere we fancied, and since I was starting to come down with a bit of a cold, I ended up taking a cab back to my hotel. I confess I like Chelsea less each time I visit. Maybe my homophobia is showing, but to me it seems all bug-eyes and artfulness.

I'd intended trying to get up early to go for a run, before the heat hit, but I slept, unusually for me, until 9.30, and still felt a little unwell when I awoke, with a sore throat and the sniffles. It was even warmer and muggier today - a thoroughly unpleasant day for tourizing. Despite the omens, I ended up having a great day, hanging out with Mitch, one of my pals from the chat-room. He picked me up around eleven, and, what with his knowledge of the city as a life-time New Yorker, and our combined parking kharmas, we got around town easily.

Our first stop was the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA), that great multiplex of modern, high culture. They had three shows that I wanted to see, and I gotta say they were all extremely good shows, at least from my viewpoint, although I remember the New York Times being snotty about a couple of them. The first was very apropros, since it tried to see how people's fascination with those in the public eye has grown and changed over the last hundred and fifty years, as photographic technology has made new representations possible. Quotes from the exhibits:

"Audiences expect to make intimate connections with people they will never know."

"Fame, for the first time, is self-appointed - by the thousands of exhibitionists...." (moi? :) "...who point camcorders..." (camcorders - get with it MOMA!) "...on themselves and broadcast ordinary and intimate details of their lives in real time to online voyeurs..." (they're talking about you guys here!)

They had three Macintoshes hooked up to offline webpages. Next to me on the first Mac was a six-year-old boy pawing through pics off Jenni Cam while helpfully trying to tell me how to operate a web-browser.

The second exhibition we visited was very popular with handsome young men, oi-veh. It was "The Unprivate House", and concerned itself with private house as a cultural invention. Both exhibitions were great, to me, in that they made you rethink things you take for granted. You just think, for example, that a home is a home - right? You grew up in one, fergosssake! But who says that homes had to be the warm, chintzy. welcoming spaces they've evolved into? (Okay, my childhood home was a little on the grotty side). In most cases, private homes of the past were decorated by non-working women, and their desires and requirements had a large determining effect on the form.

The third exhibition we looked at was in the sculpture garden, where a collection of futuristic cars were on display.

At MOMA with Mitch

Mitch in the MOMA Cafe

After brunch at Chez Louis, we tried to get into the Museum of Natural History, but balked at the long lines.

Mitch persuaded me to come with him to take a quick tour of the New York Historical Society. It was brief, and fairly interesting, including a magnificent series of paintings by Thomas Cole "The Course of Empire". But the best part of it was buying a kitschy tie by Bobbi Fellows. Bobbi was there, working the desk - a delightful, jolly lady. She promised to consider making me a special Union Jack tie :) She can make you a custom tie at (212) 228-2166. She also makes "dinorinas" - dinosaur skeletons in tutus. I'm not sure, but something tells me they may be less marketable than the ties, Bobbi.

The kitschy tie I bought at the New York Historical Society

Our final stop was a tour of the newly renovated Grand Central Station. They have done an incredible job here. The new stores and stands are built with great style, and built to last and fit in with the old.

In Grand Central Station

"Pardon me boys, is that the Chattanooga Choo-choo?" (okay, I stole that line from Mitch)

Mitch has surprised me by being a great companion - fun and talkative - he's not as crotchety in real life as in the chat room :)