Morticia

Today’s been about nothing but theatre and started, after lunch, with the matinee of The Adams Family on Broadway. We weren’t expecting to enjoy the show hugely. Word on the town was that it was pretty rubbish, but, and perhaps because our expectations were so low, it ended up being great fun. It was a proper Broadway show with wall of sound vocals, great visual effects and stunning performances from all the lead actors. Bebe Neuwirth absolutely stole the show as Morticia. I literally couldn’t take my eyes off her every time she appeared on the stage. Her movements are so subtle, yet so perfect, that the merest flick of her wrist, or a twist of a finger pulls the entire audience in.

We met up with Nathan’s friend, Daryl, after the show and sat eating apple pie in his wonderful Hell’s Kitchen flat.

This evening found us at the Walter Kerr Theatre watching A Little Night Music, which featured proper Broadway royalty in the forms of Elaine Strich and Bernadette Peters. Our great friend Adam had managed to get us a pair of comps, and they were literally on the front row of the stalls, so at times it felt like the actors were performing to us and us alone. Desiree is a role they’d probably say Bernadette Peters was born to play. It’s a cliché but she was heartbreaking. I’m sure I’ll remember her interpretation of Send In The Clowns for years and years to come.

Rather strangely, my brother Edward is also in town. He flew in today, but jet-lag got the better of him before we’d emerged from the theatre. The plan is to meet up with him for breakfast in the village tomorrow, before we make a dash for the airport. I’d love to have spent longer with him and shown him our New York, but it will be a thrill just to touch base with him and I’m very excited.

The prospect of leaving the bubble of New York is not hugely thrilling, however, because it means one thing; hard work. The moment I touch down, the Pepys circus rolls into town and I won’t be coming up for air until the end of November. Deep breath. Eyes down. Here we go...

Farewell to Times Square...

The 7th October 1660 was a Sunday and Pepys went to Whitehall by foot, calling in at his father’s en route to change his long cloak for a short one, stating that “long cloaks being now quite out.” Remarkable to think fashions changed so quickly all those years ago. After church he met up with his old friend, Jack Cole and the two of them discussed scandalous royal gossip in French for the rest of the afternoon!

Cut throat razor

We walked the length of Central Park yesterday; all the way from its Northern most tip on Cathedral Parkway, past the Eleanor Roosevelt reservoir and the Shakespeare Theatre, through Strawberry Fields and down to Columbus Circle. It’s a lovely place, which is presently marred only by ugly, make-shift signs almost everywhere, informing us that some of the racoons within the park have tested positive for rabies. As a result, I refrained from feeding and photographing the squirrels. The signs all feature “rabies” written in several different languages. What is it about that word in French, La Rage that sounds so sinister? As a child I remember getting on a ferry to Holland and encountering La Rage for the first time. It gave me nightmares for weeks. I remember wondering if any of my soft toys had caught La Rage whilst they were on the continent.


We had lunch in Hell’s Kitchen, which is also where we passed an old-fashioned barber shop. Someone inside was actually being shaved with a cut throat razor, and I realised that I’d never had that particular experience before. Five minutes later I was sitting in a chair which had been cranked back into a horizontal position and a Russian man was doing the business. It was a hugely relaxing experience, which took, I suppose close to half an hour. There were hot wet towels, balms, warm shaving foams from a special machine, aftershaves, and all sorts of talcs. Occasionally, he’d do something with the razor which felt really quite dangerous, which I guess just added to the experience. The end result was incredible; a very close shave. He didn’t go quite close enough just under my nose, and nicked me slightly on the right of my chin, but it’s certainly an experience I’d repeat for ten dollars.

I then bought a hat, which makes me feel very excited. I buy and lose hats all the time but am determined to keep this one because it’s a proper one-off and I love it very much. Here’s me wearing it in Times Square...

In the evening we went to see Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson, which the toast of Broadway at the moment. It’s a sort of modern-day, agit-prop Brechtian re-telling of the story of President Andrew Jackson; the guy who appears on the backs of twenty dollar bills. He’s a controversial character, who seems responsible for annexing great swathes of the southern United States, and finally kicking the Brits out of the country. He’s also responsible for slaughtering thousands of Native Indians. Was he THE great 19th Century president? Or was he an early Hitler? It seems no one can decide, although the production seemed to want us to think he was as nutty as a fruitcake. It had shades of Oh What a Lovely War and I suppose more than a nod towards Spring Awakening with its stirring rock music and physical theatre, but I was slightly unimpressed. It was very earnest. It’s the sort of thing that British drama school students devise. A box-ticking excercise. Now we’re doing funny. Now we’re being physical. Now we’re being quirky. Now we’re doing schtick. Unfortunately, the one thing they managed not to do was truth, and I left the theatre feeling distinctly underwhelmed.

We met Ailsa and Adam afterwards and went for a bite to eat in Vinyl back in Hell’s Kitchen. This diner needs to be seen to be believed. All of the menus come attached to classic rock and pop album covers and the loos are dedicated to four cheesy pop legends; Cher and Dolly Parton included. Each individual cubical room inclues a giant mural of the star in question, and, in the case of Dolly, which was the one I visited, you hear 9 to 5 whilst you ablute. Aisla was looking incredibly well and seems very happy over here. We walked with her to Times Square and took photographs in the fabulous bright lights.

October 6th 1660 was a busy day for Pepys which involved the sorting out of various vessels to take the Spanish ambassador back to Spain after his visit to England. Pepys’ chief rival, Creed was back in town and brought with him a set of “well bound good books, which I thought he did intend to give me but found that I must pay him.” No doubt if he'd have given them to Pepys, something else would have been wrong with them! They went together to Whitehall with plans to see Montagu/ Sandwich to help him in choosing a fleet to bring the Queen (Charles II mother) back to England, but when he hadn’t appeared by 9pm, they left.

Splash!

Today marks the first anniversary of the suicide of a very close friend. It feels very strange not being in London to somehow mark the occasion with his other friends but Kevin loved New York and we spent a great deal of time with him in this city. He was with me on my very first visit to the city and shared many subsequent trips here with me. No doubt everywhere I turn today will trigger another memory.

Yesterday found us back in New Jersey, this time in Weehawken, a town just over the Hudson River with the most glorious views of Manhattan. We were visiting our friends, Drew and Heather, who live in a gloriously arty apartment in a little wooden house there. Drew is a filmmaker and Heather is an artist who specialises in embroidery. It was lovely to spend time with them, sharing ideas and talking about the strange goings-on and characters in their neighbourhood, whilst their dog, Honda, nibbled my fingers. A couple of months ago there was a major fire on their street, just four doors down from their home, which completely destroyed three houses. I suppose when your house is made of wood, you have to be ultra careful during periods of drought. And this summer in New York was apparently one of the hottest and driest ever.

We ate in a Cuban Cafe and I had a delicious plate of black beans and rice.

Drew, Honda and the view from Weehawken

It was another drizzly day in New York and the umbrella I bought to replace the umbrella that fell apart has now fallen apart. Sadly, I don’t think we’re going to see any more sun before we leave this place, so the rest of the trip will have to be about seeing theatre and sitting in lovely cafes. Frankly, as long as I’m still unwinding, I’m happy!

Splash: Nathan attempting to jump over 42nd Street

Last night we went to Musical Monday at Splash, a club in Soho where they play songs from the shows on giant screens all night. The love the Americans have for musical theatre is astonishing and puts the Brits to shame. Periodically, they’ll show some footage from the TONY awards, which are always televised and include massive set-piece performances from all the musicals which have had nominations that year. One montage featured cameos from Dolly Parton, Elton John, Liza Minelli and Stockard Channing! Imagine that at the Oliviers!

A very short diary entry from Pepys on this date 350 years ago, which I might as well quote in full:

Office day; dined at home, and all the afternoon at home to see my painters make an end of their work, which they did to-day to my content, and I am in great joy to see my house likely once again to be clean. At night to bed.

The glory of ABBA

Sharon’s wedding was an absolute delight, which was no surprise to any of us. She exudes a warmth which is so unbelievably contagious that just seeing her happy was enough to make us beam!


The ceremony took place on the roof of a building in deepest, darkest Queens, in one of those districts that they call Skid Row in the films. It was one of those places where an entire community nestles underneath a subway track. A nearby factory billowed smoke and a rather beautiful, yet slightly concerning shimmering metallic dust into the air. I'm not sure I'd want to be breathing that in on a daily basis, but it looked glorious is the sunlight! The views of Manhattan from the venue were stunning. Sometimes you need to get off the island to see how beautiful it is!

The wind was up. Sharon’s voluminous veil billowed around her so much that her maid of honour had to stand behind her for the whole service, keeping it in check whilst looking as inconspicuous as possible! She did brilliantly!

They do weddings very differently over here. There were five bridesmaids and five groomsmen who seemed to have no function other than to stand at the front looking pretty. They come down the aisle in pairs before the bride’s entrance like actors at the end of a play; like some kind of grown up beauty pageant. Just before the food, they appear again, still in their pairs, but this time their names are announced, so they run in waving like only Americans can, whilst everyone cheers as though they were contestants in a game show.

The vicar sounded like Top Cat. There’s little else I can say on the subject, other than I think it was a Catholic ceremony. There were lots of references to God, but I was focussing on the veil and wondering whether the second violinist in the string quartet was Chinese or mixed race.

I suppose the strangest thing to us Brits was watching the bride and groom eating their wedding meal at a separate table for two. It would seem that the Yanks don’t have the concept of a top table. The married couple sit all on their own, looking horribly lonely, separated by an enormous dance floor from their guests. As soon as we saw them, we howled with laughter, because it looked like they were on some kind of naughty table.

There’s also a rather cute tradition in the US where a table of guests will start tapping their glasses with knives; a cue, apparently not for speeches, but for the bride and groom to kiss. Periodically the sound of glass tapping echoed from one corner of the room, and Sharon and Dan duly kissed.

Later in the evening, the Bride is expected to do a dance with her father and the Groom with his mother, which all seemed slightly strange but then again, this is America, and America seems to have more upheld traditions than anywhere else in the world!

Everything had been meticulously planned, but what Sharon couldn’t possibly have organised was the extraordinary sunset which suddenly appeared and framed the view of Manhattan like something from a movie. It was idyllic, and to see Sharon leaping around like a five-year old excited child in front of it was the highlight of my evening.

Other highlights from a wonderful day include seeing Sharon walking down the aisle for the first time and boogying to Dancing Queen at the reception. There are so many differences between weddings in our two countries but it was a huge relief to see that, wherever you are in the world, no wedding is complete without ABBA...

Thursday 4th October 1660, and Pepys met two cousins for the first time. They drank together in an ale house near the Navy Office and then went by water to Whitehall to attend a service at Westminster Abbey where countless bishops in full regalia were doing whatever it is that bishops in those days did. Pepys was angered by the way the congregation responded to them; “But Lord! At their going out, how people did most of them look upon them as strange creatures and few with any kind of love or respect.”

There followed Pepys’ first oysters of the year at the Reindeer, before dinner with Montagu/ Sandwich, where Pepys was shown a model of a ship by a navy man who told him many things, one assumes about boats and shipping, “that I desired to understand”.

Rehearsal dinners

I’ve just woken up. The sky is a brilliant cornflower blue and it seems Sharon may well have picked the right day to get married. What a relief.

Yesterday was unseasonably warm in New York. After arriving back in Manhattan, we immediately made our way to the West Village and I went for a second massage. I couldn't really afford it, but when you're in pain, it's not easy to think about money. Thankfully, and touching all the things in Christopher’s apartment that at least resemble wood, it seems to have done the trick. My back is still a little tight, but it feels so much better than it did.

Last night was Sharon’s “rehearsal dinner”. This typically American tradition has always struck me as being a somewhat bizarre thing to do and if it wasn’t for Friends, I wouldn't have known it was something that even happened. I’m still not quite sure what the point of a rehearsal dinner is. I, for one, don't need any practice eating food, and if you practice reading your speeches, then surely the point of them is lost? Rehearsal dinners have always struck me as one of those American traditions, like baby showers, that seem to exist purely as a licence to print money.

That said, Sharon’s version made perfect sense. We didn't all sit down formally. She’d hired a largeish room in the condo where they live, organised what my Mum and Pepys would call a cold collation, ordered a few drinks, and we all stood around having a natter and meeting some of the people we’ll be spending time with today. Sharon and her husband to be, Dan, looked very well indeed. Both had lost weight and seemed terribly nervous yet incredibly excited, which was rather sweet. I was thrilled to meet at the party two people who lived at the two ends of Route 50, which is the US road I am hoping will form the basis of a follow up to A1: The Road Musical. One of them runs a restaurant in Sacramento, California and the other is a musician from Maryland, thousands of miles across the country. Two people united only by a road.

The Happy Couple to be...

The party was in Brooklyn, and we walked back over the Manhattan Bridge at night, which felt incredibly romantic, although terrifying every time a subway train rattled across and made everything vibrate. We walked up through China Town and Little Italy, which was positively buzzing with everyone eating out on the sidewalks and twinkling red and green lights as far as the eye could see. By the time I’d got back to the apartment I was ready to drop and I slept like the dead for 9 hours flat.

A view from the bridge

Wednesday October 3rd 1660, and Pepys’ day started with a big meeting in White Hall attended by, amongst others, the Duke of York, Monck and Montagu, who by this stage in the diary was constantly referred to by his newer title, Lord Sandwich. Pepys was sent by his Lord to over-see the delivery of an iron chest into the King’s Chamber and was astonished to see the fine artwork hanging all over the walls, including an example of trompe l’oeil, that technique of making two dimensional paintings look three dimensional, which was all the rage at the time; "among the rest a book open upon a desk, which I durst have sworn was a reall book."

There then followed the arrival of all Sandwich’s belongings from sea, which were delivered to various addresses across London, including his new official home at the wardrobe.

Pepys went home in the evening and watched over the painters who were now at work in his house (following the plasterers and carpenters...) Would his house ever be ready to live in?

Tamarac

We’re sitting on one of those double-decker American-style trains that looks like it’s made out of corrugated tin. We’re speeding through the countryside in New Jersey on our way back to New York. The sun is shining. It’s extremely hot and apart from a trapped nerve in my neck, all is good!


Yesterday started less favourably with nothing but heavy rain. We trudged around Manhattan, our shoes sucking in water like chamois leather. I bought an umbrella, which immediately turned inside out, and after twenty minutes snapped in half and spiralled off down the road. We were carrying way too many bags and obviously holding them badly, because I woke up this morning with a dull ache which starts in my neck and ends in my left thumb! Nathan thinks it might be a "healing crisis" following the massage I had in the village yesterday. I think, more troublingly, the massage made my muscles relax and then I entirely messed things up by immediately walking 3 or 4 miles with a heavy bag strapped to my shoulder. There’s nothing like rain and hordes of people to put me on edge and make me feel tense.

I was enormously relieved to be leaving the city in the late afternoon. Christopher Sieber met us at Penn Station and we sped out of New York to an idyllic little town in the New Jersey hills called Millburn. To get anywhere decent in New Jersey, you have to pass through the most horrible-looking industrial heartlands which are filled with swollen brown rivers, concrete bridges, telegraph poles and freight yards. The rain had brought floods and everything looked deeply depressing. We arrived at Millburn just as the sun broke through for the first time, and from that moment on, everything was wonderful again.

Christopher was performing the role of Edna Turnblatt in Hairspray at the Paper Mill theatre in the town. It was a fine fine production and he was incredible in the role. The pit orchestra was larger than any I’ve seen in the UK and the standard of singing in the production put the West End to shame. Both of these facts reminded me, if that were at all necessary, how seriously the Americans take their musical theatre and how sad it is that the Brits don’t invest in our dying industry.

Afterwards, Chris drove us into deepest New Jersey to his house on a private island in the middle of Lake Tamarac. We’d last been there a few years ago, but everything felt exactly the same; just as wonderful as I’d remembered. The island is only accessible by boat, and the experience of rowing, by torchlight, across the black, black water was magical beyond words. I have seldom seen a sky filled with so many bright and beautiful stars. We ate quesadilla and drank margaritas in front of an open fire and I drifted off to sleep on the sofa whilst the conversation drifted around in the air above my head.

I had a broken night’s sleep. The pain in my shoulder woke me up on several occasions but waking up this morning to beautiful, bright sunshine was a much needed tonic. The trees on the island are just beginning to turn brown and red and we stood and watched Christopher’s partner, Kevin, as he rowed across the lake on his way to work. The boat looked like it was balancing on tin foil.

Leaving Tamarc

Strewn across the ground, like a thick gnarled carpet, were the acorns that Christopher had written about on Facebook; “what’s the deal with these acorns falling like rain; ouch!” I hadn’t thought it was possible for acorns to be so bountiful and dangerous until Nathan was attacked by one as he sat on a hammock. He now has a bump on the crown of his head!

350 years ago, Pepys’ day started with a visit from his brother Tom, who'd been chucked out of the familial home by his father for staying “out of doors” whoring, one suspects, too many times. Tom was, by all accounts, a troubled lad, with a speech impediment which unfortunately made him socially “undesirable.” By his death in 1664, he’d had an illegitimate child with his maid and owed hundreds of pounds to various people. On this occasion, he seemed genuinely repentant, so Pepys agreed to speak to their father on his behalf.

The rest of Pepys' day was spent in Westminster in various offices, pubs and at one stage Westminster Abbey, where there was only a “thin” congregation for vespers, which prompted Pepys to write; “so I see that religion, be it what it will, it but a humour, and do the esteem of it passeth as other things do.” Religion in his mind was fluid; as much steered by fads and fashions as anything else in life.

On returning home, Pepys was greeted by Elizabeth, who told him about the things she’d purchased during the day for the house, which included a bed and furniture for her chamber. Pepys was very pleased with what she'd bought... For a change.

Humidity

So here we are in New York! My computer clock tells me that it’s 1.19pm in London, but over here it’s only just past 8am, so we’re only just up! I’m not feeling particularly well. Yesterday, I couldn’t stop sneezing; huge surreal, debilitating sneezes, which seemed to come from nowhere and certainly weren't the most thrilling thing to have to endure on a flight; particularly one that seems to last an eternity!


We arrived in Newark and were immediately hit by the unbelievable levels of humidity in the air. I suspect this must be how it feels like to live somewhere like Hong Kong but having never been anywhere like that, I was utterly horrified! As we journeyed towards New York, the situation got worse and worse. At Penn Station, uniformed staff were just dripping with sweat. One poor woman was standing by some ticket barriers complaining bitterly that the noise they were making would end up giving her tinnitus, whilst the makeup skated off her face like ice cream on the outside of an oven. She’d obviously gone into melt down and I sympathised enormously with her. There was a moment when I just wanted to give up and sit on the ground whilst the rush hour New Yorkers swam past me. I think I would have simply melted into the sidewalk.

When we arrived at Christopher’s on the Upper West Side, Frank told us he’d never known anything like it and that the weather certainly wasn’t typical for this time of year, or any time of year in New York, and that no one had any idea why it had suddenly got so humid. We went for supper at Tom’s Diner, our favourite cafe in this part of town. Tom’s enormous Neon sign, or the word “Restaurant” therefrom is featured in Seinfeld as a cutaway to establish the coffee shop in that show. By the time we’d got back out, a scorching wind was tumbling down Broadway, rattling windows and causing the marquees outside shops to billow spectacularly.

We’ve woken up this morning to the most ridiculous amount of rain. New York is no fun at all in the rain, so we might have to find a little cafe to station ourselves in whilst we watch the world passing by. Perhaps I should try and find myself a massage. My back aches from all of yesterday’s sneezing. That said, this will need to be the lowest budget of all lowest budget holidays.

Monday October 1st 1600, and Pepys started the day doing work for Montagu. He had his dinner back at home and was joined by his father. They went upstairs to look at the bedrooms, and talked about what might work in terms of hangings. The plastering had been finished and the painters were poised to move in, so the time had nearly come for the soft furnishings. In the afternoon there was much drinking at the Mitre. Pepys returned to his house to watch over the workmen and went to bed slightly worried; “My laying out upon my house in furniture are so great that I fear I shall not be able to go through them without