'I'm Pooh,' said Pooh. 'I'm Tigger,' said Tigger. And that's the beginning of some very bouncy stories

Tuesday
Well, I woke up in the right apartment so the old homing device is still performing well.

Started reading 'Up The Junction by Nell Dunn:
"We went by the laundry to collect our wash. On the door was pinned a note: 'Owing to the passing of Mrs. Hardy the bagwash won't be ready till Wednesday."
And on the subject of mounting a motorbike:
"'Here, I'll never git on there, I can't get me knees apart.'
'Hitch yer skirt up under yer coat.'
'Help, me grandmother'll catch cold!'"

I got on with some writing, and then set out in the early afternoon. I took the subway uptown and popped into the Donnell Library Center on West 53rd Street. Up on the second floor, tucked away in amongst all the children's books I found the glass case which imprisons the original Winnie-the-Pooh, Tigger, Piglet, Kanga and Eeyore. It was quite a moment, coming face-to-face with the toys given to Christopher Milne between 1920 and 1922 which inspired the much-loved books. Pooh was a little on the wan side, and Kanga, who was lost in an orchard for many years looks slightly sorry for himself. The controversy which surrounds the fact that these icons of English children's literature are in America is as big as the Elgin Marbles - even Tony Blair has intervened but to no avail. The library had some pretty cool books on the Beat Generation writers and I spent an hour or so browsing.

It was a beautifully sunny afternoon, so I made my way up to Central Park and found a pleasant spot near the outside ice rink (currently closed) to sit and write and watch the sunset behind the colossal skyline. It turned out that I had chosen a place where dogwalkers with pets of the small yappy-type variety gather and by 7pm I was surrounded by a menagerie of cheeky fellas vying for my attention. As the shadows grew long and it started to get dusky, I made my way back to the apartment for a quiet evening in.