You gotta love that. As I’m in the taxi on the way to the airport, I’m scarily tense. My neck and shoulders are slowly solidifying into one solid hunk of tough stuff.
After picking up my ticket, I go to check in my bags. I get through all the questions with the right answers. Yes, I packed my bag; no, no-one’s asked me to carry anything for them. And then the best moment of my day: well, sir, it seems I can upgrade you. Thank you, God, thank you. Oh how I loved that moment, How I loved not having to sit in a non-aisle non-window middle seat.
How I loved the idea of sitting in 2F, an aisle seat. An aisle seat, a seat with movement possible in every part. An aisle seat with it’s own little TV screen with 6 different film channels (I watched the new version of Fever Pitch, National Lampoon’s Vacation, and Miss Congeniality 2).
Would you like champagne, sir? Yes, please.
Mixed nuts, glass of wine? Hot towel? Salad or chowder as a starter? Delicious pasta with feta cheese, aubergine and chicken? Ice cream? Refill of your coffee, sir?
Yes yes yes yes yes!
Eight hours of pampering later, I’m gagging for a cig. And it’s so close, just gotta get through immigration and customs. All my fears of being bum searched for unfounded. I had a sarcastically friendly dude asking me the questions, who even, when he found out that I was a bit arty, asked about where I’d done exhibitions and wished me good luck.
Finally, I’m sat outside on a trolley cart next to a cab driver, chatting about smoking, the heat in New York and who not to get cabs from.
The journey to Manhattan was Seinfeld. The names of roads for their airport trips. And it was hot. Hot hot hot. Hot like a hairdryer. And there it was, New York. That’s Manhattan, the skyscrapers. Through a tunnel and Lexington, Park Avenue, 35th St, up to Times Square.
Check in. Go to my room. Will it be a good view, or a view of a brick wall. Well…. look at this:
That’s the view out of my window. Fucking brilliant.
Shower, out to meet the agency folk, a few beers watching a Red Sox v White Sox game in a sports bar, and now I’m back at the hotel. Happy as Larry. It’s 11.44 here, but my body’s saying it’s 5.44 tomorrow morning.
Sleep… but maybe a bit of telly first. You gotta love that.