When I was in high-school, the students would always get a kick out of our portentous headmaster, who'd regularly intone, at the beginning of Summer morning assemblies, "What a glorious morning.". This morning was one of those glorious mornings - the kind you remember as a kid, but rarely seem to experience as an adult. Certainly an uncommonly nice day for July in New York. No humidity to speak of, mid seventies, a cool breeze, a perfect blue sky with a few small clouds. So, even though I'd had a poor night's sleep, I just had to go for a run in Central Park.

I'd promised to meet my friend Bob, who's staying in the same hotel as me, for breakfast at 10.00, but I must have taken a wrong turning, while running in Central Park, because I emerged from the park expecting to be at 75th and Central Park West, only to find myself at Columbus Circle, twenty blocks away. So I walked slowly back up Broadway, not, in truth, feeling so good. Despite the clear air, I guess there were enough unexpected constituents to it to set my allergies going.

By 10.30, though, Bob and I were in Bob's Lincoln Town Car driving up the Hudson River towards West Point. We took the tour bus from the Visitor's Center, where we'd bought tickets from three very disorganized women who'd brought to mind "how many monkeys does it take to screw on a lightbulb." The tour was made up of a nice cross-section of respectful ,quiet mid-westerners, and we sped through the various sites. The cadet's chapel ...

Afterwards, we thought of venturing East to Danbury, which isn't usually considered a tourist destination. Charles Ives was born there, and I'd have liked to see some of the sites that were formative in his early years, since I'm trying to write a screenplay about him. In the end, though, it seemed a long way to drive to a town that would hold no interest for Bob, and, besides, my lack of sleep was catching up with me. So we drove back up the Taconic to the city, and, incredibly, managed to avoid most of the traffic despite driving through the middle of rush-hour.

This is a photo of me reflected in the TV, sitting on the windowsill looking out onto Broadway.