Image(946)

Image(946)
Originally uploaded by sashinka-uk.

So, you know how these things happen.

When I got on the plane, I was seated next to a an English-looking guy; tall, willowy, looked like he did something back-office in a hedge fund or second tier executive search fund. Milchig, he sure was. I was thinking I could be head down in Madame Bovary for seven hours straight.

The row in front (the one with all the legroom), was a ball-of-energy of an American woman, who immediately reminded me of M, my mentor (when I had a job); older but looked fabulous, friendly, warm. She started a conversation with this guy about how she preferred his seat, and he couldn't believe his luck that he would get all the legroom (he was about six five) and she wanted to rest her legs on the ledge on the row behind. They effected a swap, and he kept saying "and I don't have to pay you?"

B turned out to be absoultely delightful: the flight went unbelievably quickly, she turned out to be Jewish and entrepreneurial and creative, and we had a lot to talk about. I mean, a lot. We might even do some work together.

I still managed to fit in seeing Flightplan (the new Jodie Foster - great twist, even though I don't really do thrillers) and Grave Danger, the Tarantino two part CSI. I was almost biting my nails, but wanted to save them for a NY manicure.

So I'm ensconsed in Tribeca, trying to stay awake till a decent hour so my bodyclock can be normal (whatever that is) and hello.

Say hi. It's all so - international. You know. How cool would it be when I got up in (my) the morning, you (UK) peops had all told me what you're up to.