Saturday, 27 November 2010


I am in New York and it is two o'clock and I have managed to walk at least  three miles so far today.  I am feeling dizzy from jet lag.  I don't know why, I have been a pampered creature at John Barrett's salon this morning who has guaranteed excellent hair stylists and is conveniently in Bergdorf Goodman's stunning store on fifth avenue, so should be feeling amazing.  Freezing cold and bright I am happy to see my son, who is studying music school here. My head is spinning though with memories.  I first came to New York in 1986 when I separated from my first husband Sebastian.  My father who I had only met on two occasions said I should come to New York and recover here, I trusted him, I should not have.  I was deranged and I remember crying to the tube each day in London, unable to see through a fringe full of tears. I lived in Eland Road in Battersea.  I loved this street, all my friends were there and it was  fun. I was the only one married though and seemed to spend most afternoons ironing shirts and cooking, in the morning I worked at Conrans.  Then one evening overnight my ex told some friends who came to dinner that he was divorcing me.  I was the last to know and  only realised he had left when my oldest girlfriend came into the kitchen and told me. I had no idea and had seen so few warning signs.  I was confused. I realised my husband had fallen in love with another woman.  I had not seen it coming. I swore I would never eat again.  Lie.  I swore I would never cook or iron again.  Lie.
I came to New York.  My father said stay at the Pierre Hotel and said" I will pay for you, as I have never been able to do anything for you before".   After three weeks I asked him if I could have my bill paid and he said he didn't have the money.  It was a hard terrible lesson to learn.  The bill was seven thousand pounds and I earned  ten thousand a year. (My father never paid the bill, my future husband did).
 I had one or two knights in shining armour that summer, the summer of Madonna, the summer of a yellow dress, the summer that changed my life forever.  One of the knights was my next husband and one was Phillippe Bigar.  They looked after me, seeing I recovered.  In any case I wasn't a model and so never went out with Phillippe but he ran a leather shop somewhere on the Upper East Side, it could be Madison Avenue, and I would go to East Hampton for the week ends. We were wrong about each other he once told me, "I can't go out with you as you won't age well".  Well I did although I say it myself. I had lucky genes and a good surgeon.. I thought he was Euro trash.  He was not.  Phillippe went on to study music and is now a composer.  So although the Summer was hell, it had a good ending. I married the other man and went on to live an incredible life and two beautiful boys. Phillippe is now writing  music. My life altered in ways I could never imagine, I was lucky and now I look back on it on this chilly winters day, in a place where it all happened.  The city of dare and chance.

the police sirens, the cold, the freezing breath, the magic, I was a lucky girl.

1 comment:

Zoe Moon Astrology said...

I love this story Amanda xoxo