Was bought lunch in the East Village yesterday at Yaffa Café (note to self must not go to same place all the time) by an English man I dated briefly at the end of last year. Perfectly pleasant company, lots of industry gossip, but I kept getting distracted as I stared at him across the café table. Sure he’s sporting a rather, um, directional, hairstyle at present, and a pair of oversized Ray Bans weren’t helping matters any, but I was completely & utterly gobsmacked that I had ever fancied him. Funny how tastes change.

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just found your blog and had to say: I adore Yaffa. there is no better place to go in manhattan for home fries and orange juice when it’s 3 a.m. and your air conditioning has died in the middle of a heat wave.

loving your entries, and envying your ready access to london (oh, how I miss it),

a lady

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