This afternoon Krissa and I are flying out of JFK to England for a week or so.
It's raining rats and sprogs here on Wall Street. Normally the view from the 23rd floor is pretty good, and while the air is still clear, everything is grey and sombre. I'd take a picture to show you, but for some reason (and despite the masts at the exact same level as my office floor) the phone signal for the area seems to have died a death.
The gothic brown stone of Trinity Church below me is wet and dully gleaming, the graveyard a dark green. The grey in the buildings, the tarmac and the river is stronger, more pronounced. The city is a damp gritty echo of the sky, absorbing and reflecting the scudding colours like the sea.
Krissa did a little googling on my home town, Ventnor, and found The Ventnor Blog, which was news to me. I've spent too long thinking this blogging thing wasn't something everyone does - but then I haven't been blogging much recently, have I?
Typing is tricky - I have my left index finger bound in a big theatrical lump of bandages. On Thursday night (after the post below) I started cooking dinner. Pretty tired and in a bit of a hurry, with a post long day and a half beer inside me, I started chopping onions and then managed to chop my finger as well. It was no wimpy little cereal box I injured myself on this time - it was a full-blown macho 8" carving knife. There was a lot of blood which was nice to see - I hadn't checked in on it for a while, and you never know what's going on in there. I dripped a bit, cleaned it up with a couple of alcohol swabs, kept the pressure on it (as you do) and then stuck a couple of plasters on tight. Three days later after regular baths of antiseptic, alcohol et al, the wound wasn't closing up, and so Krissa very kindly accompanied me to the ER. There a doctor kept interrupting my explanations with tales of how stupid he'd been in the past. I should have come in straight away on Thursday - the cut warranted at least two stitches, and despite the pressure and everything he said I was being too harsh on the wound with the antiseptic; stopping it from healing. So now I'm two days into a warm water washing regime and a course of antibiotics.
I am a real fool sometimes.
I cannot wait to see my family, to celebrate my Mum's birthday, whistle at the parrot, take the mickey out of my sister (who is contemplating a career in the police...now that's scary), and joke with my Dad. To see friends, familiar places, the quiet of Island nights, the life of the towns, the curve of the hills and trees across the plain...yeah.
I'm looking forward to going home.
Right, that about wraps it up for Tuesday.
Have fun, all. Take care.