Is this it?

Once again I find myself apologising for the lack of written posts in recent times. As they say - every cloud has a silver lining - and my absence from the keyboard results from some fun and crazy times in the world of NYPD Bule.

But I need to start with the important things - congratulations to David "Joffa" Lielnors and his lovely wife Jehanne who welcomed little Blake into the world on Friday. It would appear that I now have 4 infants to attend HQ with this year - Kane, Chloe, Joffa and Blake. Just a reminder for Joffa to fill out Blake's application form for TGC Inc. The waiting list is longer than the MCC so get cracking Da-vid.

And it appears he'll need to go to the Arman "Van Helden" Teker School of Punting because Miller's Racing World is giving donuts so far (see http://millersracingworld.blogspot.com/). Lift Milhouse, lift.

Anywho - back to New York City - managed to secure 4 super cheap tickets on eBay to catch The Strokes kicking off their First Impressions of Earth US Tour at the Hammerstein Ballroom on 1 March (by the way - Happy 26th Birthday Constabule Travis Bull). So put the feelers out to the secondment group to see if anyone wanted to take the other 3 off my hands - within 2 minutes I had dished tickets to Scottish "Highlander" Adam Cullen, Peter "Dude" Douglas and Amy Callan from PP Sydney. Two other secondees - Michelle from Brisbane and Denise from London - already had tickets so we had quite a posse.

So the crew waited with baited breathe as the tickets made the journey from Texas via Fedex with an expected delivery time of 16:30 on 1 March. Concert due to start at 18:00 on 1 March. As has become a disturbingly frequent occurence, I was flying this organisational responsibility by the seat of my pants again. When will I ever learn. Thankfully the tickets arrived earlier than estimated and my anxiety quickly turned to unabated excitement.

From the Wednesday before my iTunes was switched into Strokes-overdose mode. On Thursday night I frequented the Mercury Bar where they were discovered back in 1999. I walked the streets of their hometown New York humming and singing my favourite Strokes songs - Vision of Division, Between Love & Hate, Razorblade, Ask Me Anything. The list goes on. At times my own excitement scared me.

The night finally arrived. Tickets now in hand we entered the picturesque Hammerstein Ballroom - an impressive and intimate venue - and moved into the general admission area we had been lucky enough to secure tickets to. The crowd was a mix of hipsters and rock fans - but they all waiting anxiously for the band to hit the stage. Restless everyone endured the support "Eagles of Death Metal" who could best be described as terrible. I ensured I was suitable hydrated before the real fun started by grabbing a Corona as the support wound down.

Without notice drummer Fab Moretti ran onto the stage followed by the rest of the band and finally frontman Jules Casablancas. As they burst into the first track off the new album You Only Live Once, I completely lost the plot. In fact I may have had a Stroke.

The gig was one of the best I have ever been too and was an experience I will never forget. But that wasn't the end of my spectular evening. As the crowd surged towards the doors, I headed towards the stairwell to descend to the cloak room and pick up my jacket. In typical Bule fashion I forged my way through the now-parting masses but as I reached the top of the stairs I bumped into a tiny little blonde thing. Looking down I first noticed the black and white horizontal stripes of her top but as I extended a hand as an offer of apology and looked up at her face and realised that I had just almost steamrolled Drew Barrymore (who dates the band's drummer). In total shock, I walked down the stairs to where the other members of our posse had join the cloak collection line.

Calmly I pointed out to the others who was now following me down the stairs. Passing me again, Drew was whisked away into the female restrooms as a burly black t-shirted behemoth waited patiently at the entrance for her to return. I wondered where the minder had been when I had burst through the pack earlier - but before I could ponder too much longer, the three female secondees had decided they too needed to use the facilities. Upon returning to the queue we were informed that one of the girls had saddled up next to Drew at the handbasin and chatted whilst she fixed her make-up. Maybe loose, possibly embarassing but most definitely a noteworthy celeb sighting if there ever was one.

Feeling on top of the world, I purchased a black tour t-shirt and headed home with the lyrics of Juicebox ringing in my ears: "Why won't you come over here, we've got a city to love". They sure do.