October 25 2011
At 6am the blazing sun rising over Peconic Bay wakes me up in my fabulous new house on Shelter Island. It’s 70 degrees in mid-October, and I feel like I’m cheating the gods. My bloke Simon Doonan, our Norwich Terrier Liberace and I jump on our paddleboards (you know, the newly trendy surfboard-y things that Matthew McConaughey is always pictured on in all the gossip magazines) and we go for an epic ride. I live for paddleboarding — I feel like Jesus walking on water. Grumpy old Liberace is 13 and very blasé, but, miraculously, he jumps right on the paddleboard and, oddly, the choppier the sea gets, the happier he seems.
Our 21-year-old niece Tanya from London is staying with us for a month before she goes off on a six-month, $20-a-day tour of Latin America. Her first stop: Mexico. She’s unaware of the political turmoil and the recent spate of drug-related violence there and thinks we’re insane for worrying about kidnapping. Youth.
Later that day I watch my Philadelphia Eagles lose the football game in the afternoon. Devastating. I take the edge off the pain with a bit more paddleboarding.
Then in the evening it’s dinner chez nous — a scrumptious lobster pasta and a lovely cake Tanya has baked for us — and then we all settle in for some Agatha Christie on Masterpiece Theater.