Sweet Nothings

Saturday began with a leisurely breakfast followed by a visit to MOMA . If you think that website is cool, the museum itself more than lives up to it. The modern painting and sculpture galleries contained works by the likes of Van Gogh, Rothko, Giacometti and Warhol that even a relative artistic philistine such as myself could recognise and appreciate, and the lovely little sculpture garden seemed a fine place to relax. I, though, was off to Greenwich Village to meet up with cousin Steve and his wife Nancy. My great-grandfather and Steve's grandpa were brothers, so that must make us first or second cousins once removed, or maybe twice. Who knows, or cares? Because Steve and Nancy were fabulous, a bohemian older couple who lived in a wonderfully cluttered flat above a Cuban resturant in the heart of the village, and who seemed to know everyone . Yes, Greenwich Village (and West Village, which appeared to be two sides of the same coin) genuinely has a village atmosphere, where people

It didn't start off so well. Upon arrival at JFK airport I eschewed the chance of taking a bus or the subway to Manhattan and headed straight for the cab rank. I was expecting the cabbie to be a garrulous Irish or Italian type who'd welcome me to their wonderful city by giving me all the proper patter. Instead, my driver was a taciturn black guy who barely uttered two words to me the whole way. The Pod Hotel was all funky and bohemian and my little pod-room seemed very cosy. I had a vague expectation that the lobby would be filled with young, attractive travellers who'd invite me on a four-day hedonistic party around the city, but oddly enough they didn't materialise and so it was that I headed off on my own for an initial Big Apple recce. I walked by the United Nations building and then down 42nd Street towards Times Square, and gawped around like an idiot trying to take everything in. The sheer size and quantity of skyscrapers is what you notice most, a very differe

Well, the adreneline was certainly flowing this morning. Two women got involved in an argument on the tube, and like the good citizen I am (shush! it’s true) I duly admonished them for getting on everyone’s collective tits. I’m not 100% sure how it started, but I know we’d stopped and more people were squeezing onto the carriage. A blonde lady (let’s call her Lady One) was holding onto a rail and started complaining to a black lady (Lady Two) who’d just got on and appeared to have pushed her hand away, or something equally trivial. Of course, in such a claustrophobic, stressed-out environment what should be a minor irritation can serve to bring one to the edge of their sanity, and if I couldn’t hear exactly how the dispute started I very quickly heard the rest as it escalated into a proper slanging match. It must be said that, as the accused party, Lady Two was doing most of the (very loud) talking. She was well-spoken and clearly not some ignorant pikey sort, although she did drop the