Sunday brunch

Well, Mr W was beyond charming, and we had a delightful - and delicious - lunch at Café Cluny in the West Village. I worked my way through asparagus with chanterelles, hollandaise and a poached egg, with a huge pile of French fries on the side to mop it up. There may have been some frisée & leaves for texture, but I wasn't so interested in the salad component...

Cluny is only three blocks from here but I nearly went arse over tit every other step on the icy pavements. Mr W insisted on walking me home, so I clung onto his arm, but I am afraid there was zero chemistry on my side. Thing is, he's a proper grown-up, in his forties, whilst what I really need are some bad, naughty going-out male friends who want to paint the town red and misbehave, regardless of age. And, whether a boyfriend or a friend, I need a boy who can throw snowballs, chuckle at nothing, eat a lot, and jump around at gigs. I don't think Mr W is one of them.