Free Lunch

We were taken out for lunch this weekend by our insane Indian landlord.
After being regaled for an hour with some rather lewdly spicy (and frankly, unprintable) tales of his yesteryear relationship as a Cambridge undergrad being led astray by a Catholic nun, we were taken for lunch in what can only be described as a slice shop.

Although he was at pains to impress upon us the fact that he would not be taking us for a cheap lunch, our entrees were brought to the table in silver foil trays and by the end of the meal, there was a hole in the bottom of June’s plate.

As we walked home feeling both dazed by the experience and somewhat violated, we recalled, that as someone once said, there’s no such thing as a free lunch.

In Search Of The Miraculous

On the hunt for new friends again…

As our older contemporaries will remember, from time to time, Terry & June feel the need to buoy their ranks of friends and find some new ones. Add to this, our never-ending search for a Hamptons mansion in which to spend our weekends, and we’ve got to persevere and keep the faith that one day someone may want to join our modest gang (of two).

The latest in our sights are recently-penniless photographer, Annie Liebowitz and Ruth Madoff, wife of disgraced financier, Bernie, recently ostracized from New York’s high society.

What better a pair than this to approach for new friendship? Surely even these two desperate souls, at their lowest ebb of life, would be happy to befriend us?
If anyone has their numbers to hand, please send them in.

My affair

Following my myriad liaisons in the Scottish countryside, I felt it was time for some serious fun, so headed to the bright lights of London’s metropolis, where posing as a Petit Chaperon Rouge, I found my wolf.

There followed four hedonistic days of squatting, as Bonnie and Clyde were reunited for their usual messing about on the river and aborted bike rides, from Tuscan/Jewish feasts and Jamaican jazz dancing, to thunderstorm stranding on the Jubilee Line and farmer’s chutney rave parties.

Alas, like all things fabulous, it had to come to an end, and I’m returning to the hubby on the Hudson.

As my faither would say, “Back tae auld claes and purridge”.

Or in the words of Alton Ellis, pure sorrow…..

FOUND

Well, it would appear that the wife has been having something of a busy time. However, I know her tricks! Trying to make Terry jealous are we? I see no Frenchmen, only Curly Sue in a beret, no ladies for the lesbian affair, and your brother! Apart from Johnny, I don't see anyone even vaguely suitable for an affair there, and I'm sure he's got higher morals than to get involved with a married woman. If you're trying to turn this into a competition, June, you know who's going to win...

On a lighter note, I was stopped yesterday in Chinatown and asked to pick a card - I picked this magnificent specimen (pictured) and although I don't believe I've FOUND him yet, I can only imagine it's going to happen this weekend. Watch this space...

Four year itch...?

I've been having a whale of a time over here in the homeland, and away from the prying eyes of my husband. Thank God dependable old Terry has no idea about my extra-marital flings.

Thus far, on an innocent camping trip I've managed to find a new husband, have a child, break up a five-year marriage and conduct several affairs - one French, one Irish, and one of the sado-masochistic lesbian variety.

Who would've thought island life would be quite so exciting?

Escaping America

So here I am at last: June signing in, from a far-off land...

My quest to escape the 35 degree heat of NYC has so far been a raging success, having spent the past three nights under canvas in the torrential rains and 15 degrees of Bonnie Scotland's West coast.

Glen Sannox camp site not being quite the technological hub I had imagined, the full adventure run-down will need to wait until I'm back in civilisation....

Air Time!

Really getting into the swing of the single life now...It's So Hot! One of the only ways to get any air in this city is to wait for a gust of wind from below. So last night I embraced my feminine side and took to the subway grates a la Marilyn outside Do Forno Hughes Heights. I attracted a lot of attention! What will the wife say?

On a down side, the frozen bolognese sauce is starting to run out, as is the booze cabinet, as is the housekeeping cash she left me...

Oh, and it looks like one of the plants is dying...

Gotcha!

Found one.. It would seem that Chadwin House houses a secret bar/library in its upper levels, where all the straight men are. I was amazed and delighted that it was so easy and that the one I snared was so red blooded - practically a cave man!!!

7 Year Itch

7 year itch

The wife's left me - she's off to the motherland for some cool air and quiet times!

I would never have thought that I would find myself in the position of Tom Ewell's character in 7 Year Itch - one of my favourite movies but here I am. For those not familiar with the movie, Tom is left alone in their apartment in a sweltering hot Manhattan during August while his wife goes to spend the summer in the country.
Richard Sherman, Ewell's character has been married for 7 years and finds himself tormented and struggling to maintain his fidelity as a voluptous young lady - Marilyn Monroe - moves into the apartment upstairs.

Now, my wife and I have only been married for 5 - let's see how I get on. I'm trying to see this time apart as a positive one, I think I'm going to miss her, but at the same time, it might be a moment to embrace my latent heterosexuality. Always having to play the husband can be somewhat tiresome. So, as Sherman finds his Monroe in his very building, I should assume my very own male version of Monroe lies within the 4 walls of Do-Forno Hughes Heights. Are there any straight men in this building? Let's see - off to the lift to find out...

Renewing our vows

Such is the success of our marriage at the moment, that we have decided to get married again!!

With our original wedding stylists on the other side of the Atlantic, we consulted our good friend, Paul Wedding Dress, to help find our frocks at his Macy’s bridal suite.

Assisted by 76 yr old Sylvia, after much primping and preening in the 360° mirrored display boxes, it seems that even the “World’s Largest Store” had nothing good enough for us. We headed off into the night and settled for beers and curry instead. Much more like it.

“There’s nothing to do in this city…”

Saturday afternoon in the city that never sleeps, and that’s exactly what we want to do. It’s so boring here. To whittle away a few hours, we stopped off at a Chinatown salon for a quick wash and blow-dry. $11 each. A snip, one might say.

Alcohol-Dependence Day 4th July - Our first celebration as patriotic yanks

4pm: Champagne-fuelled picnic in Brooklyn (1 bottle each)
7pm: Swift tipple whilst switching flippers for heels
8pm: Rooftop fireworks party #1, overlooking the Hudson
11pm: Rooftop party #2 – Terry gets left behind
Midnight: Regrouped poolside at Soho House (miraculously, we both stayed dry, ie. we didn’t fall in)
4am: Vintage champagne and large G&Ts at a West Village penthouse
Following this, we must’ve lost interest – no memories available…

Making Headlines

Running late for our lunch date with Barack and Michelle, we hadn’t the time to stick around for our front-page photoshoot for the capital’s favourite broadsheet. Without further ado, we settled for a quick pose atop their signpost

Up Shit Creek

June was getting a bit agitated at a suburban Maryland party – not enough action - so she lured me down to the waterside, me thinking she just wanted a romantic spot to get a bit jiggy with it. Not so…

She had her eyes firmly lusting after the speedboats roaring around the harbour. Sure enough, within minutes we had been dragged aboard by a gaggle of wasted seafaring loons (skipper pictured), and essentially TerryandJunenapped to god knows where, with said locals stumbling around trying to point out the sights on their beloved “creek”.

The missus loved it – I could barely understand them. We did eventually get dumped on dry land and stumbled around for a fair while trying to find the identikit picket fenced porch with yank flags from where we’d started.

Wacko Jacko Moonwalk Hunt

26th June 2009: A day after the untimely death of the King of Pop, I was driving down the Westside Highway when the wireless announced that in 30 minutes’ time, there was to be a mass-memorial-Moonwalk in Times Square. Dashing home, I grabbed Terry and, living just streets away from the action, head up to join in the fun, en route to our romantic weekend in Maryland. After standing around awkwardly with the other one thousand punters, all staring blankly at an empty fenced off zone, the local constabulary made us stop before we'd got enough.

Setting Up Home

So, fresh from Berlin and the Upper West Side respectively, Terry and June moved in to the new downtown Manhattan Do Forno-Hughes pad on June 18th, assisted by the ever-able Chrissie B and our endless stream of enthusiastic doormen, Carlos, Benoit, Jorges, Richard, Sam and Joe. 27 packing boxes later and with a new set of Zabar's silverware, we are ready to embark on the city that never sleeps. Should fit us like a glove.

Terry and June Do Forno-Hughes: an introduction

For those readers unfortunate enough not to have been in attendance at our 2005 Portuguese nuptials, we thought it apt to set the scene of a very happy marriage.
Terry & June met in 1995, in the shadow of Aberdeen's finest granite. After many years of courtship, and with an intuitive suspicion that no-one else would have them, the advent of their late 20's persuaded them that to settle together was their best bet. Four years into the marriage, they put their relationship successes down to the fact that they have never co-habited. Until now....