My husband and I are in New York, where everyone is talking about the approaching Trump-Biden debate. Well, I’ll be astonished if it deserves the name. True debate seems to be a thing of the past in the US as much as in the UK, with both sides of any argument (assisted dying, the Israel/Gaza war, immigration) shouting loudly but not listening. Civilised friends of ours tell us their university-student children refuse to engage in debate about gender identity. It’s ‘You’re just wrong, Dad. You don’t get it. That’s all.’
The Americans are mad about The Great American Baking Show, the stateside Bake Off, so I have an ego-boosting time being stopped for selfies and a less flattering one being asked by women, young and old, if Paul Hollywood is as nice as he is good looking, and is he single? Yes and no, in that order.
On a glorious spring day we walk the High Line.
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