Two old queens in New York: the QE2 and it's enormous younger sister, Mary, docked on the West Side

I'm sure I'm not the only person to use that headline as a joke. Although in my case it's true, since my longtime ex-boyfriend Shawn was staying with me for part of my time in New York. And since neither of us had much energy, we stayed in the hotels most nights, like a couple of old soldiers who've set down their swords. Or like a couple of old queens, take your pick.

Shawn in Starbucks on 9th Avenue, before we went over to see the QE2 and QM2 depart

As my Mother would have said, Eeeh, I've been in the wars. Not only did I get a nasty cold over the weekend, but I also reinjured my back Saturday night. To cap it all, on Tuesday I had mild food poisoning, and spent the day with aches and pains. And all this was what led to Shawn and I having such a quiet couple of days together. In fact, apart from going to the Cooper Hewitt Museum of Design and seeing two old queens floating down the river (Sunday night), we didn't do too much. Oh yeah, we went to a bar called Horny? on Monday night, but it was an ineffectual effort at nightlife, since we got there way too early for there to be anything of a crowd.

We waited in the freezing cold for an hour before the QM2 sailed past, on its way to rendezvous with the QE2 (which was trailing far behind) at the Statue of Liberty for a fireworks display. By the time the QM2 arrived, it was almost dark, and I feared I wouldn't get a decent photo. I snapped as many as I could, and one of them came out okay: a little out of focus, though; my camera doesn't cope well with the dark.

The many onlookers on the pier ogling the biggest passenger ship ever built

The weather in New York was completely schizophrenic; the first day was warm and sunny, the second very cold and wet, the third wet and warm, and the fourth, sunny and cold: every single possible combination of warmth and rain in four days. By today the cycle had started off again with another warm day just in time for my departure to San Francisco. I was sitting happily at my desk, working on various problems when I thought I'd better check to see what time my car was picking me up at the hotel later in the afternoon. I was shocked to see that it was going to be at 1.30. The problem was that it was already 1.34. I'd somehow thought my flight was at 6.45 and not 4.15. So there followed a mad period where I packed up my laptop and briefcase, flung over a cup of coffee all over my desk, dashed to the bathroom for paper towels, then tore down to street-level, hailed a cab to take me the seven blocks down Broadway to my hotel, waited an interminable ten minutes to get my bags out from the bellhop, discovered that my car service was still waiting for me even though it was now 2.00, and sped off to JFK. In the end, I made it with plenty of time to spare.

I've loved staying in the Marriott Marquis; the rooms are large, modern and comfortable, the service is excellent, the gym world-class. But it's the only hotel where I've been stuck in an elevator for 35 minutes. It happened last night after work, and I was stuck in there with seven other men while the temperature steadily climbed. My back really only hurts me now when I'm standing still for more than a few seconds, so after a few minutes, I had to ask my fellow prisoners if I could take up some extra space and crouch down. When we were finally released, my legs were dead, and I tottered over to the reservations desk to demand some kind of compensation for my ideal. Which I got in the form of 20,000 frequent stayer points.

In all other respects, it's been a good week. As the week wore on, my cold died away, and my back started to feel a little better. I found myself in a cheerful mood, most of the time, and work went very well. I'm trying, at work, to be a kindler, gentler Keith. I know I can be difficult to work with sometimes, because I seem to have little patience for people who are slow on the uptake. So I'm trying very hard to not snap at people, and to be more cordial when my train of thought is interrupted.

On Wednesday, I was asked to extend my stay in New York for a whole month, which brought me up short. Here I was looking forward to going house hunting in San Francisco and it looked like I was going to spend almost the whole of May in New York. But by this morning, Tom, my delightful project manager, had apparently arranged to have the guy I was supposed to stay in New York to babysit sent to San Francisco instead, so it seems I've been reprieved.