I have to fit in a museum, too, so am heading for the Museum of Sex (known as MoSex) on 5th Avenue. The last sex museum I went to was in Amsterdam 30 years ago, and sex has come a long way since then – unlike my sex life, which hasn’t. It’s been so long, they might well make me an exhibit in the museum, so if you don’t hear from me for a while, you’ll know where to find me.

So far, my health is good and, while I was sick over two weeks ago, I self-isolated, just in case. I’m less stressed than I’ve been in years and I’m sleeping better, too. My bedtime treat is a glass of hot oat milk with a shot of brandy. If, one day, I don’t wake up, you’ll know I went contentedly. Stay safe, everyone. Stay sane. This is New York, New York. We’ll make it here.

Los Angeles still seems like the obvious alternative. I love the West Coast weather and, as a place to escape the summer humidity and winter winds of New York, it’s a great contrast. The problem is that the things I love about it are the things I dislike, too. Film, TV, showbiz and media are my passions in a life that I am grateful every day to be a part of. But then there is the downside of all that – the people struggling to make it in those areas and, invariably, being disappointed: the scent of hope, the reek of failure.