Karen’s performance was a collection of songs entitled ‘Take a Little Drive’,  inspired by the tragic events of Sandy Hook in Connecticut last year. She talked a lot about how she, and many of us, need to ‘recalculate route’, a GPS term that also serves life when unexpected things happen. So there were some tears and some tales, accompanied by the grand piano and cellist Stephanie Winters.

Joe’s Pub is not really a pub at all. It is an extension of the Public Theatre and with that comes the status of the man who established the venue along with the free ‘Shakespeare in the Park’ program in Central Park. Joseph Papp was a theatrical producer who believed in the accessibility of entertainment, and his ‘pub’ – more like a nightclub, hosts about 800 international artists a year performing across genres, from cabaret to jazz.

Karen has a powerful singing voice which serves her just as well in a football stadium as it did on stage. She has sung the Star Spangled Banner for the Boston Red Sox and for the New York Jets, and she has sung Advance Australia Fair for the ANZAC ceremony atop the Rockefeller Center. But when Karen asked everyone to stand for the national anthem at the beginning of her show, I was caught out by my own patriotism. I have never been in a situation where I found myself standing for the (American) National Anthem and the lack of hands on hearts in the audience showed there were other Australians in similar stance. It makes me wonder if I will ever be able to take the route calculated by Rupert Murdock for duel citizenship. That’s global positioning with a whole new tone…

One of the great joys of living in this city is the unexpected things that happen. You’re never quite sure what you’ll find and often the best moments are those you stumble upon. On that night we wound through the tourists spilling out from Times Square, the street artists creating art with spray paint and chisels, police loitering on horseback and vendors roasting nuts – with other nuts doing their New York thing. We stopped to take a photo of an installation that particularly appealed to me of heart shaped planes that ‘reference the love found in contemporary relationships that often requires people to be separated from their families or loved ones’. At that same moment Cuba Gooding Jr suddenly appeared behind us - he had just emerged from his performance in ‘A Trip to Beautiful’ and there we were at the stage door of the Stephen Sondheim Theatre. He signed some autographs, pulled up his hoodie, and in the company of a minder, melted into the crowd. There was no time to cry out ‘show me the money’ so we carried on past the ping pong players in Bryant Park to home.

Music on the street can be as extraordinary as any you will find in a concert hall. With so many talented artists in NYC looking for a break or just wanting an audience, the performances you find in transit will stop you in your tracks. I saw this happen with an opera singer in the subway under Grand Central Station last week – one young woman turned the madness of peak hour into a transfixing emotional moment. Similarly yesterday I encountered the Ebony Hillbillies bringing southern magic to the subway. That’s the second time I’ve seen them – it must be a regular Wednesday gig – and the second time I’ve been late this past week. Music under New York is in many ways as amazing as concerts in Carnegie Hall or the lincoln Center. You probably won’t see B.B.King there now, but you may have once…

Everyone talks on a day like this, even the horses had something to say when we rode in. The Park Rangers were plodding along on what looked like Clydesdales, but in fact they were Percherons, an old European breed known for their gentleness and strength. Hundreds of years ago they were the preferred horse of Knights, the idea of which, added to the magic of Bach lilting through the air, created romantic visions of Richard Gere and Sean Connery sallying forth to save the day. Gwendolin was nowhere in sight, but the inspiration was flowing and (under my bicycle helmet) I could feel the wind billowing in my hair as we cruised up the newly planted rhododendron drive to the Conservatory Gardens.

The gardens are on the upper east side of the park and showcase thousands and thousands of tulips and daffodils in the midst of cherry blossoms, lilacs and a magnificent towering wisteria sculpture. People wander in amazement, taking photographs where their eye can’t believe a deep red and white tulip with a blue and yellow core. Or the smell of those lilacs, or the pink blossoms falling like confetti with a passing breeze, or the colour of the petals as the sun rolls around and lights them up. It is all you can do to be there and infuse the beauty. For Nothing is as beautiful as Spring…. a strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning, in Eden garden…..

My initial post was on the 5th Avenue entrance where the unmistakable parade of gala goers could ascend to the party either with high heeled relief in the elevator, or through the magnificent painted environs of the stairwell. Glasses of bubbles anticipated the arrival of the Queen of Norway, as did the protocol approved photographers. My iphone was not on the list, but I did capture a quick word with Bill Cunningham, who was being enthusiastically welcomed by reporters when I suggested to him that he might upstage the Queen. At 84 and forever on the move from one fabulous social event to the next, he retorted ‘Never let anyone make a film about you! It becomes impossible to work! ‘. Clearly a photograph with him was out of the question, especially as Queen Sonya, resplendent in red, was making her entrance. It was time for dinner.

Scandinavian hospitality overflowed from the ballroom to the bar where a space was quickly set up for we unofficial diners. Without the distraction of speeches and song, reporters, musicians and the team that made it all happen were able to celebrate. I shared stories with two Danish reporters visiting NYC with our Mary and Crown Prince Frederik. We talked about the royal regard for Green Roofs, and the famous Noma restaurant in Copenhagen ( make your reservation before you book your flights… ) We talked about the windswept beaches of western Denmark and kangaroos on the lawns of The Lodge. And we talked about the prospect of dual Danish/Australian citizenship. Go Mary!

The whole evening was a huge success, epitomized for me by the artful relaxation of a special guest while he sat out a Norske number – perhaps he was remembering an evening with Liz…

The pit master is Hugh Mangum who created a huge following at the open air markets in Williamsburg over the past summer. His trick is in the rub, but also the slow cooking process which gives the meat that ‘melt in the mouth’ sensation. Unbelievably delicious sweet meat. The smoker runs 24 hours a day and is fueled totally by wood, no gas. Hugh was there stoking the coals when we paused to consider the brisket, the brontosaurus or the rack…? But it’s the brisket that is the signature choice. He told us about the cooking process, about the pink rings created in the meat as it slowly breathes in the smoke. Sounds ominous, but all this is years of developing a ‘Texalina’ taste that fuses the best Texas tradition with Carolina methodology. Hugh said they have many Australian regulars so I’m not the only Aussie on the hunt. Now that Rosella have gone out of business we may have to change our old barbecue model…

Ping Pong! There are two tables set back behind reception that form part of an open entertainment area with bar, food service, comfy lounges, internet and a library of real books. It’s all very inviting and easy to relax. Pod is not so devastatingly groovy that you have to pretend you are waiting for your daughter, ( although a sister would have been good! ) but the staff are cool and tattooed and very friendly. The food is Spanish and there are colourful touches of the Orient in the gaming rooms, making for an international mood that carries to the top floor. When the lift door opens you feel you have been transported to Morocco, but step outside and with vantage point views to the Chrysler, the Empire State and the East river, you are unmistakably in Manhattan…