What has this country done to me? And perhaps more than anything else, what has New York done? Someone who wasn’t Kurt Vonnegut wrote that one should leave New York before one becomes too hard. Well that time has now passed for me. I know what a New York minute is. It is three seconds. Three seconds being the exact period of time I will wait for passengers to exit a subway car before I move on in myself, regardless of whether the car has finished exiting. I know this along with everyone else. I know also that it is of the utmost rudeness to loiter on any kind of subway exiting. I don’t care if you are crippled or old. And actually I don’t.

Anyway, prior to my arrival here I regulated weight with cigarettes and coffee, increasing dosage if I was feeling fat. Now I am the gym freak or at least I try and put in a good show once in a while. I stare intently at flesh as I pull it off my bones and sigh. I don’t think I even looked at myself naked when I was in London. I layered up with clothes and scowled quickly as I ran past mirrors. My eyebrows covered most of my forehead and I kept knickers on during waxing. It all seems so far away now. Not that I am groomed particularly since that would involve a degree of being arsed which I have not yet attained. Plus I have a job.

No, but here I am on a Friday, the first in April, wondering if should get my forearms waxed. Wondering if anyone else does. I mean really. What has happened?