Romantic Manhattan

Oh it's snowing! There are big fat snowflakes drifting past my top floor flat. All I can see from my bed are snow laden branches and the grey, snow-filled sky. I was woken up by the sound of the neighbours scraping the pavements. I'm staying on Perry in the West Village for five nights at my friend M's beautiful and very grown-up apartment whilst she is on business in London. The rooms have cornicing, architraves and wide sash windows and there is a working fireplace. I feel as though I have been teleported into the New York of Edith Wharton.

It's minus four outside (or 24F - I do love that you can choose between 'English' or 'Metric' on weather.com to get either farenheit or centrigrade readings), and the snow storm is predicted to last until Tuesday. Meanwhile I have a lunch date with Mr W. I'm not sure exactly what kind of lunch date it is: a friend in London asked if I was single and then introduced us to each other in an email, so I am presuming this is a kind of unspoken blind date. Although whether Mr W knows this is another matter. Still, Sunday brunch in the Victorian haven of the Village with an interesting man in a snow storm. That sounds fun.

I'm hungry now tho, so I'm going to make a huge pile of eggy bread )French toast w/out the sugar & syrup) and eat it in bed with the papers, whilst listening to my new music.