Later that evening, a couple of 'Mutants' joined us for dinner at a midtown Italian restaurant and it was an interesting chow-down to say the least....... well, more accurately put, it was a typical American meal of two extremes. Both Steve and Jeanne (Marketing manager) were strict vegans, so they spent the first half an hour discussing what they couldn't possibly eat which was just about everything except the actual menu itself (does cardboard contain animal-free rennet?)

Ever the cynic, I considered ordering the fois gras followed by the veal but reckoned that the lack of meat and predominance of lettuce in Steve's life could have led to the development of serious psychotic or even cannibalistic tendencies, and the mere whiff of either delicacy might send his already fragile mental state completely over the edge........ so I played it safe and went for the sea bass.

At the other end of the spectrum was the 'jumbo salmon' that the waiter enthused as 'reeeeeeel big' - and he wasn't joking. A dish of positively titanic proportions, it looked more like a severed limb as it was delivered to an anorexic on the next table who didn't even flinch. Ahh, you septics.......you crack me up, you really do.........

Our main port of call after dinner was a private party for 'Detour' - an LA based glamour mag - where Steve hoped to gain some pre-album publicity by having Alan snapped with a leggy bimbo. Unfortunately, somewhat reminiscent of our Paris experience, the guest list was completely haywire and we stood outside in the freezing cold for half an hour waiting for another of Adolf's henchmen to allow us entry. Then again, America is the land of stirling service and just as though we were standing in line for the 'Pirates Of The Carribea', the club laid on queue entertainment in the form of a huge Italian punter who came careering out of a back door, shirt ripped to shreds, blood pouring down his face, hollering in true Joe Pesci style, accompanied by three huge black bouncers who proceeded to beat the shit out of him on the pavement beside us. Once inside, things weren't that much better. The promised 'modules' had disappeared hours before (if they ever turned up at all) and the only people who remained in the cages were 2 very burly, thong-attired male dancers.

Following this, we hooked up with Recoil collaborator Nicole Blackman and her fella 'Big Jon'.

Nicole Blackman + Alan Wilder