This week I queue in New York*

(You might want to play this while you read!)

My Friday went like this: ensconced in a blunt, jet-lagged haze I wound my way through Manhattan’s Central Park to the Museum of Modern Art on 53^rd. , whereupon I queued for five hours to sit opposite performance artist Marina Abramović. And stare at her.

This Friday marked Abramović’s 72^nd full day of sitting and staring at strangers, one at a time, not moving even to eat or wee. In total, 1500 New Yorkers have queued – most of them from 4am – for this peculiar experience. Including, yes, Bjork. Marina is the one in white, below. Stacks of people cried, by the way. It was a big, beautiful experience to be in the room.

While I was in New York last week, I hooked up with my Year 8 English teacher Mrs Cochrane. Fun-weird. We connected via a few degrees of separation on Facebook, and via the same network, she worked out I was coming to New York (which is where she’s now based) and so we had dinner at Bread in Soho, which is one of my favourite joints, despite the preponderance of bread (which I can’t eat). So I ate braised beef with polenta.

And, OK, after dinner we might’ve popped in to Rice to Riches across the road. You been? Crikey, what an experience. Rice. With riches, such as nuts and chocolate and coconut cream and lots of chunky, sugary bits and…well, dieting is optional.

The funny thing about the night was that it felt like I was catching up with an old mate. Even though I was 14 when we last sat opposite in a classroom. And she was the teacher.

I’ve just started a book. As in, writing one. I’m not quite sure how this came about. But as with most thing in my life, they’ve happened while I’ve been doing other things (I’d never even read Cosmopolitan before I became editor of it). Anyway, contracts are signed. I’m off.

How do you start writing a book? If you’re not writing a book, you might ask, how do you start a big project with multiple layers of complexity and emotion involved? I’ve been seeking an answer for a few months. There’s some common thinking out there, in case you’re wondering. Principally: don’t worrying about the perfect start; just… starting. Vomit forth ideas. Let them unfurl in a mess. Be messy with it. Be loose. Use butchers paper. Get fired up. Creative. No holds barred. Have no structure, no semblance of order.

But don’t edit.

You go on holidays. You come home. You have 2937498237 emails in your inbox. Your heart sinks. True?

The funny thing about this, though, is that when you start wading through them, about 80% are actually redundant – miraculously (!!) the issue or request has either been sorted by someone else or dropped off, deemed not so critically urgent, in your absence. Or the sender of the email actually pauses for half a second and realises they can answer the issue/request themselves. Der.

I’m away for a few weeks and this time I tried a new tactic.

So, I’m here in New York. And it’s bloody hot. I woke at 5:30 am in a sweat and ran around Central Park. I’m staying right on the park – my bed overlooks it. The truly divine thing about New York  is that when it’s hot everyone is out on the streets…and lots of them riding bikes, which is just lovely. The city is slowly becoming very bike friendly. My mate Bec is meeting me today in Bryant Park, riding from Brooklyn. Unreal.

Dressing for bike riding is an interesting challenge. I personally like to push the parameters. I ride mine around Bondi in heels and skirts, if required. My style and my wardrobe work around cycling. Everything I own is stretchy (in part because I don’t iron). I buy handbags that can sling over my shoulder along with my bike lock. I wear a lot of shorts. Or pants/jeans under dresses. That kind of thing.

This week I embrace my “consequential strangers”

Down the road from my place is one of those cheap nail bars with the vibrating vinyl chairs and wall-mounted TVs that’s always screening Dr Phil. I’m not a fancy nail person; I tear or chew mine. But one of my Favourite Things To Do In The Whole World is to go in for a $25 pedi, merely to take part in the funny human vibe of this place.

I love it. There you have Lena and her extended family from Vietnam buzzing with the efficiency of drone bees and bossing around the well-heeled, alpha-female PR executives and eastern suburbs wives who frequent the joint, telling them to choose their polish colour faster and berating them for putting their shoes on too early.

Gorgeously, it’s a social contract that suits everyone.