There have now been six attacks in eight nights by the same two men, although the most recent attack I know about was the ‘main’ man acting alone. This was last night (15th May) in a Nottingham hotel where a woman was beaten and robbed – the first report of an attack I got was on the 6th of May and both men were involved.

The first man (and the one who has attacked on his own) is called Jerome but also uses the name Aaron, is about 5’6″, light skinned mixed race, and in his twenties. He has a strong ‘black’ chav or ‘hoodie’ accent and has worn dark/all black clothing.

The second man is about the same height, stockier build and also light skinned mixed race, Jamaican origin/accent wearing sage green hooded coat/jacket (hands in pockets) hood up and drawstring pulled tight like Kenny the South Park character.

Their MO has been to make a booking which ‘Jerome’ goes ahead with, returning to the incall premises just after he has gone claiming to have left something behind, which is when his friend has burst in and they have carried out these attacks and robbed the WG. ‘Jerome’ is getting braver now and in the most recent incident attacked as soon as he arrived.

The main mobile number used has been 075841204** and they have also used 077283990** – contact me for full numbers.

Corresponding thread on SAAFE is here and there will hopefully be a warning in the local AdMag tomorrow – ladies if you have blogs on Adultwоrk or personal sites, please post this as anywhere that others may read it could help somebody.

I arrived at Belfast City to pouring rain and half the usual compliment of airport buses – travelling anywhere by public transport on a Sunday is generally hectic and not a little odd, and between yesterday’s route change on the train, the Saturday night-outers on the way home and the early-starters on their way to the football along with the (always) faintly panicky looking airport crowd I was eternally grateful for 1: my reserved seat, even if it was in the window corner of a table (which I have yet to find a way of preventing the automated system from giving me) and 2: my MP3 player, since attempting to concentrate on anything the Kindle had to offer in the resultant sea of noise was impossible even for someone with hearing as dreadful as mine.

Considering this last week was supposed to be something of a relaxation and refreshment exercise, the amount of time spent on trains and wandering about towns and cities where I do not live has been well over average, as the long planned outing to Newcastle to see Dara O’Briain (recommended as very funny and also pleasingly tall) rolled round – woohoo! To recap, I also have tickets for Frankie Boyle in November, the Hackney Weekend in June, Frightfest in August (fingers crossed) and not forgetting Thailand in July – any suggestions for September and October to fill the gaps will be considered. I may even catch up with Dara again somewhere along the way (not in a work context, obviously).

This particular jolly was planned long enough ago that it was stupidly assumed the weather mid-May would be, if not Mediterranean, at least reasonably pleasant, so naturally and in typical North East form it instead alternated between determinedly constant drizzle, heavy downpours and greyish dampness but without actual precipitation throughout. The conditions put something of a kibosh on the walking about but did nothing to harm the finding of a KFC, and positively aided our early arrival at the City Hall to the joys of Fosters in plastic glasses (with lime in my case as the thought of forcing it down unmasked was not one I was prepared to contemplate). Fortunately the balance was redressed in an equally waterlogged (and see pic) York on the way back with a pint of Thornbridge’s Pivni IPA at the fairly-new station tap following a blowout at the all-you-can-eat buffet up the road – this after a breakfast of builders tea and one of M&S’s newer creations (which was deservedly unwrapped with the sort of care and reverence normally reserved for expensive clothing which is to be ordered, tried on for fun and then immediately sent back); the majestic Pork Pie And Egg sandwich. Cor.

As to the present moment, and I will shortly be packing all but the necessities in preparation for a few days in Dublin as of tomorrow – there’s room for an early appointment first thing, but to all intents and purposes we’re done in Belfast for another couple of months. Back at the homestead, I will be away this weekend doing Other Stuff, but have a rare three weeks in Scarborough before the next jaunt – rainy day entertainment a speciality!

Update soon. Dara, you really should have asked me what my job was instead of the other folk…

My (woolly) hat stayed resolutely off until touchdown at Gatwick on Thursday lunchtime, whereupon it was hastily found and replaced as the reality of my good fortune a few miles further South sank in along with the chilly drizzle and grey skies. However I had a lunch date at Dim T (again) with the lovely Kinky La Rue and we were celebrating – for those who haven’t seen her blog already, my friend has got ‘erself a Proper Job after a ten year break from the 9 to 5! Despite having a stinking cold on interview day (an unenviable prospect at the best of times and I don’t even remember the last one I had) she managed to impress them so much that they rang the next day offering the job – no messing about. We celebrated over lobster gyoza, pork buns and duck-with-all-sorts and after green tea and a banana fritter (and a pic – see left; the new Prada sunglasses I bought at Jersey airport for a treat seemed less optimistic at the time) I sallied forth to my very bijoux Kings Cross mini-room (for one night only) and a quick shoe-change later (rain again) I was on my way up to Kentish Town for the English Collective of Prostitutes’ Rights Sheet launch. Those who know me will probably be aware that public speaking is very much not my thing, and that whilst I have no trouble at all prancing round a hotel room in front of a total stranger wearing nothing but six inch patent heels and tinted lipbalm, any more than two eyes on me (clothed or otherwise) and something in my brain begins to shut down as a defence mechanism.

I can’t honestly recall a word of whatever I babbled, however, everyone was very kind and to be fair it mattered not – the main speakers from organisations all around the world including Guyana, India, Ireland and the USA amongst others were all wonderful and I left on something of a high that can only come from the act of standing on a stage in front of a few dozen strangers and explaining that you are a happy and willingly working prostitute who is very proud to spend some of her free time helping support other prostitutes. And is not a little hacked off that even in the 21st century we may still not work under the normal conditions that everybody else is entitled to (namely with Another Person there) unless we want to get them, ourselves or both arrested, prosecuted and relieved of whatever property we may have been fortunate enough to amass; the Know Your Rights sheet may not change the law, but will at least provide even more working women (and men) with a bit more back up in the event of police interference or misunderstanding in much the same way as SAAFE aims to do, and in turn, hopefully give us a little more power back. Never a bad thing.

Friday morning saw me headed for home via the shiny new Kings Cross concourse – more on this next time as I had forgotten about my planned exploration and left only enough time to board my seat and await my free tea and shepherds pie, but the place is looking better than it has in years, and I promise to get some pictures (although these will not distract me from the progress of my new favourite building, the Shard, which I was beside myself with excitement to have a clear view of from my hotel room window and am planning a trip around as soon as the tickets go on sale). In the meantime, the Londonist (linked above) has plenty.

To this week, and not a lot to say really – I will be away Thursday and Friday, am already busy Wednesday and Saturday bar a couple of scant appointments and the next twenty four hours are pretty much spoken for too! Belfast is the next port of call before a couple of days in Dublin (and a far better organised departure from the lovely Dublin airport this time – orders for soda bread, white and black puddings and other delights have already been taken). Normal service will be resumed in Scarborough on Monday 21st, or possibly the 23rd depending on a flying dash back to – yep – London. You’ll be the first to know…

Whilst the attitude of the Adultwork users of Jersey, I’m sorry to say, has not improved since my surprised and disappointed observations back in February here, I have resolutely kept my chin up and as ever the gentlemen who have actually read, booked and turned up without any of the rude calls, illiterate text messages or the general petulant bleating (mostly professing complete ignorance of my booking process and expressing their disbelief that I am not falling over myself to encounter someone who thinks it perfectly acceptable to initiate contact with a total stranger from whom they are looking to receive a professional service via a text message that says ‘hey babe R U free 2day?’ or some such) which I have sadly come to expect here following two visits in a row of same, have all been delightful, lots of fun and to be honest, the only reason I am even contemplating coming back. To be fair – given the situation  – the numpties are the big losers. We’ve all been having a lovely time!

Meanwhile back in That London last week, the torrential rain and did-anyone-notice tube strike had what could be called a minimal effect on day-to-day activities and in my new ‘trial run’ venue close to Victoria Station especially the pace was, er, brisk. Fortunately the diabolical weather did not encourage much in the way of leaving the hotel, so plenty of indoor entertainment was the order of the day (with a mini-excursion for Thai dinner and gossip with the lovely Daisy, who happened to be visiting from Manchester) and after a couple of days of novelty, normal service was duly resumed in Waterloo on Thursday lunchtime – yay!

The weather did not preclude me from my planned trip to the Tate Modern, and everybody ought to go and see Damian Hirst’s ‘For The Love Of God‘, the platinum-plated and diamond-encrusted skull pictured last week – no photograph on earth could do it justice (not that I got the opportunity to test the theory, since cameras are strictly prohibited); sparkly, shall we say. I also wandered through the rest and even had time for a whizz round Yayoi Kusama (see above) plus a brief pit-stop in the Member’s Room for tea and a biscuit, thanks to a not-entirely-unwelcome cancellation on Friday afternoon; coincidentally about the only time when it stopped pissing down for more than ten minutes.

 The weekend started with charming company, very blue steak and a gratifying enormous île flottante at Chez Gerard, and continued in a thoroughly positive way for the next 24 hours and to Matsuri St James for a long-planned Teppanyaki dinner with Jemma Fox (erstwhile of Stockwell and also Ping Pong back in December) and the lovely Charlotte, whose new dress I coveted having nearly bought the very one myself (and still might); the rain did not put anybody off and the nothing-short-of-stunning food was as fabulous as the company. Anybody checking out the site can look at the Taiko set menu and fantasise – I am happy to say I no longer have to (and for those wondering what Fireball ice cream is, see below!)So back to the present, and I will be whizzing across to Guernsey tomorrow afternoon hopefully to my usual enthusiastic welcome and maybe even some sunshine; fingers crossed the winds will have dropped a little by then (even Marks & Spencer in town earlier was looking decidedly thin after the weather delayed food deliveries, although happily the stock of strawberries, mini yum yums and tropical fruit in jelly was holding it’s own). A few appointments are left, although not many and I will be back in London on Thursday for the previously-mentioned ECP launch, not to mention the KLR lunch beforehand.

Next week in Scarborough is largely booked up or unavailable thanks to my trip away over Thursday and Friday but oddbods remain, and then Belfast and Dublin await at the weekend! The ads will be going up at the end of the week, but anybody wishing to get in early by all means do.

More soon. There’s still two yum yums left.

The week is looking as busy as one might expect and all sorts of free-time treats are planned too, most but not all involving cutlery (or chopsticks at least) although with the current weather forecast being particularly dreadful I will be looking forward to keeping myself and my companions amused indoors much of the time, and quite right too. As for Jersey and Guernsey, the minuscule amount of time actually spent outside my respective hotels renders conditions outside superfluous to say the least. And it is April, after all.

Back at the ranch, the last few days have been something of an necessary exercise in acclimatisation, at least back to normal levels of human activity after the enjoyably lazy Easter break, and I have managed to fit lots in (including one particularly efficient morning organising my flights, hotels and trains for my next few trips away, followed by tea and scones at Bonnets before charging home for a brief but enjoyable liaison and rounding the day off with an hour in the gym and a spot of sauna-ing after. And after finally getting round to purchasing replacement ink cartridges for the printer and even managing to get them fitted in well under an hour, I have whiled away a happy afternoon today cobbling together all the hotel reservations, flight booking details and other bits and bobs right up until Koh Samui in July (to be carefully folded and placed in appropriately labelled envelopes, which in turn are placed in date order on the special Travel pinboard). One of these days I may even get the apartment finished. Only kidding.

I also spent a pleasant Wednesday teatime (following a more than pleasant Wednesday lunchtime, for completely different reasons) ranting in the Guardian’s Comment Is Free section, following yet another tediously predictable supposedly ‘feminist’ (apparently denying women their free choice in not only how to earn a living, but the right to shag whoever they like for whatever reasons they choose is feminism, if you are one of the particularly hard-of-thinking Guardianistas, anyway) article which usefully demonstrated it’s author’s non-existent ability to give a balanced view of prostitution in the title, which began ‘The sex industry is repulsive…‘. Bless ‘em. I thank them kindly for entertaining me for a couple of hours (it was still raining) but I’ll resist the temptation to link to the article, partly because I can’t be bothered, but mostly because it is bollocks.

Back to the next couple of weeks, the 3rd of May sees me back in London for lunch and a catch up with Kinky La Rue, and later to Kentish Town for the launch of the English Collective of Prostitute’s ‘Know Your Rights’ (details here); this, for anybody familiar with the photographer’s ‘bust card’ aims to provide sex workers with a straightforward guide to UK prostitution laws to refer to in the event of raids, attacks and other disputes (all we need now is for somebody to furnish some of our hopelessly ill-informed police force with something similar) and I am very pleased to have been invited, although the prospect of  ‘saying a few words’ is one which never fails to imbue me with terror. I’ll be home on the 4th, but the week following my return is already filling up steadily, and since I will be away with a pal on Thursday 10th and Friday 11th (beer, curry and Dara O’Briain await us in Newcastle, the first of a desirably lively programme of entertainment over the next few months) heading back to Dublin via Belfast at the weekend and then away again the weekend after, Scarborough folk are now going to have to either hang fire until May the 21st or wheedle into one of the very few gaps left on the 7th-9th. Sorry!

As for the remainder of this weekend, it’s back to packing, fridge-emptying and the usual preparation for another longish stint away – anybody who hasn’t got their booking in yet is advised to get motoring! No (more) rest for the wicked…

More soon. Next stop – Victoria!

Having spent a relaxing rest-of-the-week after returning from Edinburgh doing as little as possible bar catching up on odds and ends I decided to make myself properly useful over the weekend, tackling aquarium filters (cleaned) and lights (replaced), the mending pile (mended), the recycling (shredded, bagged, bottle-banked) and afterwards decided on a couple of hours hanging around the pool, sauna and steam room reading the more sensible Sunday papers by way of reward. Not being much of a chocolate person, a fairly solid brunch and a nap rounded off the weekend, although the distinct lack of anything interesting in the way of Easter films was a bit of a disappointment.

One thing I found out this week film-wise is that I was not alone in my disappointment at Cabin in the Woods; having swapped emails with fellow fan Alan Simpson of SexGoreMutants (which I ought to point out is a horror site rather than the synopsis of my last outcall to Whitby) after seeing his review here from the DBD screening I was relieved to find I wasn’t losing my marbles – I mention it again since the trailer (which gives the entire plot away anyway, such as it is) is becoming endemic on the television and I would hate anybody to waste hard cash on it whilst the UK’s streets still boast lovely takeaways, pubs and betting shops (and also litter bins, which to be honest would be a comparatively worthwhile way to jettison seven or eight quid).

Scarborough is as busy as one would expect during the first major school holidays of the year – for those visiting in the remainder of the week (and normal service is very much resumed for those booking in good time) please do allow a little extra time for traffic and parking; the weekend is liable to be the worst of it. Having ventured apprehensively into Tesco last Thursday for the first Big Shop in a month or so thanks to the usual travels, I was extremely relieved to be packed and out in less than two hours (although less so to be £80 lighter) and replete with a fridgeful, I headed for home to sit out the thick of it for the weekend over porridge, my current Kindle must-read and an ever-growing To Do list for the couple of weeks left before the Next Big Trip.

In order to clear up a bit of confusion (my fault entirely, but I still haven’t quite worked out the best way to advertise multicentre London visits), I will now be travelling on Tuesday 24th, arriving at lunchtime and staying at a delightful hotel a few minutes’ walk from Victoria Station for two nights before moving on to my usual Waterloo digs on Thursday lunchtime – Thursday morning appointments are available up until 12 noon or so, and Thursday afternoon will be Waterloo from around the same time depending on everybody else (if the gap does wind up smallish, a swift, be-stockinged dash across town in a black cab is nothing I’ve never done before and it’s only a few minutes away, after all). I will be arriving in Jersey on Sunday, and Guernsey on Tuesday – availability for all is steadily disappearing and London in particular is down to the last few appointments; one left each on Wednesday 25th and Friday 27th as we speak. I am also planning a long overdue catch up with Kinky La Rue, a trip up to Kentish Town as the ECP launch their Rights Sheet on May 3rd (of which more in due course) and an evening off to take myself and my shiny new member’s card on a trip to the Damien Hirst exhibition at the Tate Modern, hopefully followed by a kebab (pros and cons to be weighed up on the night).

As far as the next ten days or so go, I will be at home working my way industriously through the aforementioned list but will be available for advance bookings until Saturday 21st – get in touch! And not to forget; the super-vigilant may well have noticed already but my working hours have changed slightly to allow for alterations in my Scarborough schedule – the new ones can be seen here (there’s not a huge difference, rather a bit of a reshuffle to allow for more yoga and some Aqua Zumba, amongst other things). As ever, email is the way to go.

To London, Jersey and Guernsey – not long now! Likewise Belfast and Dublin – phew. For the minute though it’s back to domestic bliss, with reheated leftovers, the end of year accounts and washing all the net curtains. Anybody intending to accuse me of glamourising prostitution (again) may want to wait for another week.

Strange though packing a bag containing no work stuff whatsoever was, I managed four nights and five days worth in a mini-wheelie (including rice krispie bars, my favourite tea bags and spare shoes) to then be extremely pleasantly surprised upon arrival by my enormous room with lovely comfy bed, appropriated for the duration at the city centre Travelodge for the princely sum of twenty five quid a night. The lack of any facilities or furniture within bar aforementioned bed, a chair and a little desk (all of which, whilst perfectly serviceable, did nothing to allay the underlying feeling that I was awaiting trial for something I’d yet to be told about) in a space that could almost have housed a village cricket match (and see pic above) meant that the ambiance was lacking a little – the prospect of spending 22 hours or so a day thus ensconced (as is the usual modus if I’m in a hotel at all) would be a fairly alarming one, especially with no access to BBC3. Or a hairdryer.

Filmwise, the programme was as varied as one could hope for – illustrious titles old and new (see posters for some recommendations, especially if you’ve never seen Demons) and whilst I’ve searched in vain for links to my favourite bits from the short film selection, the ones I really wanted to plug annoyingly weren’t available online. I do have Don Hertzfeldt’s Wisdom Teeth (below) which made me simultaneously howl with laughter and feel slightly faint – be sure to ride it out through the end credits. And don’t worry, they’re only stick figures.

Much snack food was eaten, lots of coffee and bottled water drunk and I left Filmhouse for the final time late Sunday night after the closing film; Cabin In The Woods is worth an individual mention as the only truly mainstream offering (with people in it that others may have heard of) and is likely to be of particular interest to Buffy fans thanks to the involvement of Joss Whedon. Unfortunately, being mainstream, much-hyped and not on general release until the thirteenth the showing was looking busy, so being the organised type I dutifully arrived at the auditorium door in good time to secure a top seat (front third, middle) forgetting the golden rule that in the event the film turns out to be the sort of cringingly embarrassing dreck of which even the people responsible for Hollyoaks would have the good grace to look ashamed (dull, one dimensional, pitiably try-hard and about as funny as dogshit on a wedding dress – I suspect those in the chair permitted it to be pre-screened only to people who were sleep deprived, on the end of a festival buzz and/or drunk) it’s nigh on impossible to get out, hotfoot it back to the hotel and leave them to it. And guess what…

Fortunately I had discovered not only a shiny new Wagamama but a place round the corner selling chips with curry sauce and was feeling benevolent, but honestly, save your money and watch a box set instead. Still, one fetid stinker in over three days of lovely new features, classics, shorts and some fab animation is about as good an outcome as anybody could hope for (especially if that anybody also sat squirming through the whole of the execrable American civil war zombie flick Exit Humanity at Leeds, lest we forget) and whilst CITW was an hour and forty minutes of my life I’ll never get back, there were highlights aplenty (which I won’t bore folk with any more here, but do feel free to ask). This year’s full programme is here.And I promise I’ll stop now. Easter is almost upon us, and whilst I’ll be around most of the weekend I will not be available on Sunday although normal service will be resumed on Monday, and as I’m now in Scarborough for a full three weeks (give or take) there ought to be ample opportunity for catch-ups! Availability in London at the end of the month is dwindling steadily – my first port of call will be a new venue a few minutes’ walk from Victoria station for a change, so to anybody for whom Waterloo is a bit of a trek, bear it in mind!

More soon, once have settled back in and am no longer wondering what everybody I see would look like as The Risen Undead. Bahahahaha…

As everybody can see from the pictures, the lovely spring sun was shining in Douglas and my brief stopover on my way to Dublin was as lively as ever – the Isle of Man and it’s menfolk are something of a favourite of mine and I will be back as soon as I can figure out a date that fits around the TT; finding accommodation during the event of the year is no mean feat, but never say never! Dublin, no thanks to Escort Ireland who couldn’t be bothered to post my (expensive) ad until I emailed them in a panic at midnight on the day I was due to arrive, was as hi-octane as ever by contrast; fun, exhausting, frustrating and fabulous all at once. I did (only slightly deliberately) miss an opportunity to see Gunther Von Hagen’s ‘Bodies’ exhibition in favour of some much needed fresh air and a leisurely stroll around St Stephen’s Green on Friday afternoon, the culprit for my weakened state on this occasion being a nothing-short-of spectacular eight course dinner at Thornton’s restaurant the night before with some delightful company, fortunately for both of us as the procession of ever more jaw-dropping courses lasted some four hours. Cue adding ‘sea urchin’ to my ‘Things To Eat Before I’m Forty’ list, just so that I could cross it off again…

The Irish punters’ collective fixation with ringing purely to say ‘hotel or apartment?’ is one I will never be able to fathom, partly because the answer is fuck all to do with anything unless you’re planning an attack or a robbery (assuming, of course, your social circle is not liberally packed with Eastern European housekeepers) but mostly because my ads VERY CLEARLY, and in a wholly unsuccessful attempt to thwart the question and save everybody’s time being wasted, say Hotel Incalls. I can only imagine that the price of spectacles in the capital must be as prohibitive as those in other shops would suggest – I write whilst sporting a nice new spring dress which I happened across in a Dublin boutique last week – said dress arrived this morning after I ordered it on Saturday from the UK store, where it cost a perfectly serviceable £72. The Dublin price was €99 or roughly £83 – you know you’re in trouble when the souvenir stuff in the airport shops starts looking reasonable (specifically tea brack, soda bread and both black and white puddings, all of which survived the journey home from Manchester Airport admirably well and have been fortifying both I and the fishes since my return). And luckily, after all that (and bearing in mind that my BlackBerry’s blocked caller list for ‘DUB’ is longer than that of any other place in which I have ever set a six inch heel) those Dubliners who do read the ads, book, turn up and behave themselves are some of the nicest punters I have met anywhere in the world…

Back to sunny Scarborough, and the lovely weather has meant a busier than usual few days – as previously mentioned, the remainder of today is to be usefully employed getting ready for tomorrow’s trip and my first proper break in a good long while; I will be attending the Dead By Dawn horror festival in Edinburgh for the first time in eight years, and four days of normally-off-limits curry and beer, scruffy comfortable *cough* clothing and the extremely therapeutic effects of virtually non-stop unmitigated on-screen carnage with an equally intrepid pal in tow will be just the ticket. I will have neither my work phone or computer with me, but proper emails (advisedly or otherwise depending on the cumulative effects of such delights as Puppet Monster Massacre, as well as a welcome second chance to see Juan of the Dead) will be answered daily. Woohoo!

More in a bit – Citylink’s finest (the criteria is not strict) have miraculously turned up a scant hour before end of play, and the fresh air and lovely sunshine beckons. I do hope it keeps up over the weekend; we’ll be able to talk about it whilst we’re spending ten or so hours a day sitting in a cinema in the dark…

Back on Tuesday!

This was all barely three days after returning from Belfast, where the springtime weather had put the menfolk of the city in punting mood and any concerns I had been harbouring about the huge number of other ladies populating the place the same week proved unfounded – yay! I arrived home with a spring in my step to match the gradually unfurling one outside – my usually immovable September to May coat-scarf-woolly-hat combo was rendered completely superfluous as Belfast happily basked (and I with it) in lovely warm sunshine, and after a suitably laid back journey home and a restful weekend monitoring the New York weather forecast, spoiling the fishes rotten and emptying the refrigerator, I set off in earnest first thing Monday morning and after the aforementioned Heathrow pit stop, with pal Kinky La Rue in tow we were off!As it has been my second visit to Manhattan (and regular readers will remember the hi-octane pancake-and-sightseeing fest of last year) a far more relaxed atmosphere prevailed, and having a lovely friend along to compare notes over breakfast, check in with after work-time, share the fun with in the free time (and assure me that yes, it would definitely be a very good idea to buy that) as well as a travel buddy for the flights made a pleasant change for a confirmed lone traveller and even more so with a couple of less-than-ideal hitches along the way. We arrived to near-tropical sunshine just after lunch, and a scant hour later were past the desks and heading into town to a couple of big corner suites, trips to Rite Aid and the Food Emporium for supplies and a few days of fun, frolics and the usual cultural exchange – woohoo!

The polar opposites encountered in communicating with American punters baffled me last year, and this year was no different – in the red corner the ditherers and foot-draggers with the faux-casual, meaningless dreck which passes for a ‘booking enquiry’; do you think we don’t know you’re having exactly the same tedious, drawn out exchange (generally about how you ‘might be able to schedule something Friday evening but will get back to me’) with three or four of us at once? In the blue corner fortunately, and as previous experience taught me the bona fide gentlemen are the same in Manhattan as anywhere else, and the senders of polite and specific enquiries containing (unprompted) desired time, day, booking duration and the requisite screening information (something alien to us in the UK, and long may it remain so) were welcomed along to make merry, and universally charming as ever they were too. And true to form, having recalled the disastrous effect on the pocket of exchange rates following my last visit and lacking any wish to furnish the coffers of the banks, we industriously and responsibly spent the lot – helped along in no small part with a visit to the huge B&H electronics superstore on 34th St (an experience impossible to adequately describe here and surely a worthy candidate for any forthcoming list of wonders of the world) and a slow but purposeful amble up Fifth Avenue which resulted in even our late 2pm checkouts being stretched enough to prompt a knock on the door to ask if we were actually planning on leaving today…But leave we had to, and after explorings of street markets and parks in Greenwich Village and soul food in Harlem, proper KFC (and with biscuits – read and learn, UK franchises) and much cut-price shopping in the non-stop Spring sunshine, a packed flight deposited us untidily back at Heathrow at the ungodly hour of seven am on Tuesday morning – a bus ride from home for KLR and an hour long schlep across town back to Kings Cross for me prior to settling into my (thank God for one of my better ideas) first class train seat home, although I was perturbed in the extreme to discover that the fish pie boasted on the menu was not available and I had to make do with sandwiches (these being a choice between chicken and egg, not helping my sleep-deprived brain in the slightest) but some three hours and as many cups of proper tea later I arrived home at last, and after a frozen-pea treat for the fishes and a much needed nap it was business as usual! The accounts are up to date, the laundry is done, the shopping is gloated over and it’s all systems go for my second island trip of the month on Monday – the slightly-different-to-Manhattan Isle of Man is next on the itinerary, shortly followed by a welcome return to Dublin city centre midweek, just for a handy comparison regarding the opposite end of how much it’s possible to get away with charging for exactly the same thing in a shop.

To those who have been trying to get in touch, apologies – the phone was off all day Wednesday and yesterday because I was knackered, busy and in no mood for silly questions about whether I’m available ‘this morning’, and so on (sent today shortly after seven am by somebody who presumably thinks that prostitutes are not only available and gagging for it twenty four hours a day, but don’t need sleep and just make up the ‘how to book’ information on our websites for fun – I eventually saw it when I woke up shortly before ten).  As ever, an email will get your question answered quicker and more fully mainly because unlike the BlackBerry which deals with calls and texts, the BlackBerry that deals with email is never switched off except on planes (yeah OK, quite a bit then).

Time for lunch, the usual repacking of the suitcase and continuing my wait for CityLink to pick the bloody rental phone up – I can’t possibly move off the settee in case I miss them. More soon. Promise.

I have had a special bamboo massage plus a pedicure so luxurious I almost fell asleep, attended a nothing-short-of-bizarre Zumba class presided over by somebody who appeared to have never seen or heard of Zumba before (and I suspect never will again), and returned home last night über-relaxed and immaculately preened (Bob Marley-esque hair excepted, which will be dealt with later today) and polished, with ample time to unpack, repack, get the washer on, clean out the fishtanks and throw another coat of satin finish on the current lot of woodwork before heading off to Belfast tomorrow. Even the journey home via Northern Trains was less than arduous, bar the earlier part necessarily covered by car which took in a bit of motorway, a couple of service stations with funny names and finally a unnerving procession of the kind of picture-postcard Middle England villages which never fail to make me wonder about their suicide rates.

To this week, and it is no secret that the lovely city of Belfast and her friendly inhabitants are high up on my favourites list, albeit being a relatively new addition to it – the coming days are looking as busy as ever, so just the ticket after a desirably low-fi break (and I cannot deny heaving a sigh of relief at the lack of snow this time after the shenanigans on my previous junket the other weekend). To those who have been unsuccessfully trying to phone (and if you haven’t read the site you’ve really only got yourselves to blame) then unusually for a Sunday the phone is on today (although in all fairness if you didn’t read that, you’re unlikely to read this) so by all means give it another go and hope that the emailers haven’t beaten you to the punch. I will be around this time until just after lunch on Thursday 1st, so plenty of time for mischief!

In other news (and after many months of only boarding flights where the duration in hours is in single figures) I can also announce that I am finally getting a proper holiday almost four years after the last one, as those who were with me when I bought the apartment will remember – yay! I will be packing my bucket and spade and heading off to Koh Samui in Thailand in July, along with a couple of days in Bangkok at the end to sharpen the reflexes (and a layover in Muscat, which I shamefully had to Google) on the way back. Something of an impulse purchase, but after an idle browse through one of the plethora of hotel-booking-site emails I am flooded with (a rather chi-chi one known as Splendia, to be specific – I once booked a serviced apartment through them in 2008 and they have mailed me daily ever since) containing an offer on a 5* spa resort working out at roughly the same nightly price as the Scarborough Travelodge. The flights are slightly dearer than a cab to St Nicholas Cliff, for anyone who was wondering, but suffice to say a very good deal was had and I will be away for eleven days in mid July (narrowly missing the Olympics on the way back, which would undoubtedly undo all of the stress-removing work in under an hour between Heathrow and Kings Cross station). Woohoo!

Back in Scarborough for the briefest of moments, it seems that Spring has definitely sprung and I hope to enjoy a couple of days of the mild weather at the end of the week when I get back – New York, now only ten days away, hasn’t quite caught up yet (according to weather.com at least), but packing for every eventuality is very much my thing, after all. As far as today goes, the packing is almost finished, the refrigerator is organised and everything is on track for tomorrow – Belfast here I come!

More in the week…