So… I’m going to New York.

Yes, it comes as a surprise to me, too.

I’m going partly because Clare is going, and partly because I want to go drop in on Knopf and say “Hi” to some US booksellers and get a sense of what’s happening over there. And I want to hug the buildings of New York and feel the Obama Afterglow.

We are, of course, going by plane.

Hm.

I don’t do well with planes. I just don’t enjoy the experience all that much. It’s fine most of the time, but I’m periodically aware that I’m in a staggeringly stupid place for a human being to be and that 35,000 ft up is definitely a hostile environment.

This has always struck me as the most dangerous place to live. You build your house at the foot of a big stack of stones on the edge of a quarry, right next to a very angry ocean. It just can’t be a good idea.

This is what can happen to stones – and manmade structures – when the ocean in question has a snit. This is supposed to be a long, elegant harbour wall. Note carefully how it appears to have been eaten by a giant puppy.

If you haven’t seen this yet, go see it. But do not, in fact, imagine that you will emerge from the experience unscathed. You will become addicted. You will long for another chance to move the little wiggly lines around and make music.