It's a place where passers-by can watch you defecate to their heart's content, where champagne-glugging models take their clothes off in front of your disbelieving eyes and where floor-to-ceiling views of Lower Manhattan will suck the breath from your windpipe.
I refer to The Standard Hotel in New York City, where I laid my eyebrows-dominated head for a couple of nights in August. Located in the ball-achingly trendy Meatpacking District, it's arguably more famous for its bogs than its rooms. "Just wait till you see them," my girlfriend said on the cab ride there, referring to its Tommy Crappers. "They're on the top floor and you can see right across New York!"
Almost two months ago, I started a blog by writing: "They say you should never meet your heroes - that they won't live up to expectations, that you'll be disappointed."
Well, having met Lee 'Scratch' Perry at London City Airport and being thoroughly undisappointed, I thought it was about time I met another of my heroes. Unfortunately, one cannot plan these encounters if one wants to avoid being slapped with a restraining order, so I had to rely on chance.
