Wigstock

Monday
I spent most of the morning in the apartment finishing reading 'Sky Burial' - a beautiful story - and writing, darning, ironing and painting my toenails. Around midday I set off to explore the East Village in daylight and not under the influence of...anything. I took the subway to Avenue 2 and walked from there to Tompkins Square Park which is a bit of a local landmark, not least because of the Wigstock Festival which was originally held there until it got too big. Pleasant little place, but you don't want to sit in the same place for too long if you catch my meaning. I explored all the streets around St Mark's Place and before long found myself back on the familiar territory of Washington Square Park and its environs. I walked for miles, all around Union Square and the many shops that beckon and then back across to 8th Street and finally Greenwich Village. Well if I haven't managed to get my bearings after all that then I will have to send back my Duke Of Edinburgh's Award and no mistake.

Picked up some food from the deli and retreated to the apartment to refuel before hitting the town again. I soon realised that by going out at 9.30pm I was way too early, and ended hanging about in half-empty bars trying to look inconspicuous by earnestly reading the emergency evacuation procedures. After three New York style vodka and tonics (a highball filled with ice and vodka and a teaspoonful of tonic) I was swaying in the draft from the air-conditioning and when an Amazonian drag queen winked at me from across the bar I decided it was time to find somewhere else to hang out. I trooped down to a bar on West 16th Street called XL which was extra large in size as opposed to the people in it being on the wrong side of ample. I made quite an impression, especially when I confidently walked into the foyer and opened the door to the broom cupboard in a Peter Sellers stylee. I then walked into the bar and for some reason I took the stairs down to find myself inside an open-plan ladies' lav. As entrances go it wasn't one of my more outstanding efforts. I managed to haul myself up onto a barstool and order a vodka and tonic but by now my head was lolling around like a bladder on a stick and everything was becoming a blur of dry ice and raunchy video. I got my coat and set my automatic pilot to home.