Somewhat inevitably, the joys of touching down were soon dunted by being pulled by immigration. My mistake was to have given an honest, but vague answer to the 'when are you going back question'. Apparently, you must give an exact date, even if you both know it is a fiction. So I was deposited in the Department of Homeland Security waiting room with a few dozen other dodgy characters. No prizes for guessing the ethnic profiles of my fellow suspects; though there was a Scotsman who made the mistake of showing his frustration to Team America. An hour later the good stamps came down in my passport and I was on my way again.
The taxi ride was a triple joy - looking out at the big city with child's eyes, paying $25 for an hour's fare, and a Pakistani who advised on the replacements for the Lahore Kebab House.
NYC. Wow! It's a theme park for grownups. The first few days were walking around in a film/dream, totally larger than life. Sesame Street memories coming flooding back. Huge guys who could write for The Wire in their sleep, all jokes and bravado; charming old eccentrics shuffling around; wannabe Carrie Bradshaws everywhere - stick thin with shades & phone welded to their faces, little dogs, bigger dogs, and tiny dogs; highly organised bums complete with shopping trolley and patter - "Hey buddy, if you gave me a quarter, I'd get real excited - I'd get so excited I'd probably have to jump in the Hudson to cool off.... and I can't even swim", honking fire engines, sqwaking ambulances, and blooping police. Red bricks, brownstones, fire escapes...... haven't seen Big Bird yet though.
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