Day One. If you love long stories about taxis- read on friend. read on.

Too soon? Look. this is how I live now. Fast and crazy.
Also I have no one to talk to as yet. So I'm effectively talking to myself. But through the status of Blog, it is not typing masturbation, it is in fact a public document enlightening a nation and possibly beyond. Score!

Mainly, I just wanted to re-live a couple of things that have happened thus far.

As you can imagine, in the last couple of days I have been in a whirlwind of cocktails, high heels, baggage handling Morrocan psuedo stalkers and parties. -Alright only one of those things is actually true. Can you guess which?

Before I get into Abdahl (or before he gets into me, wahhhheyyy- look its a joke Jack ok?) I just want to tell you (me) about the taxi journey from the airport.

So I arrive in NY. Its exciting; I'm excited, you're excited, we're all excited. Turns out its a bit of a distance from the airport to my ghetto homey home so into a yellow cab I pop, resisting the urge to take a enthusiastic picture of the yellow cab as I pop. So far, well done me.

The first problem arises when it transpires that the taxi driver (of undefined eastern european origin) doesn't actually know where we're going. My first instinct is to point towards the large Sat Nav sat jauntily on the dashboard. But hey, I'm in New York, I'm chilled, I'll let the man just do his job. So I just lean back and admire the view. My rather excellent admiring is interrupted by the driver groaning slightly every few seconds, I try to just ignore that and continue to look out of the window, ready to be all overwhelmed and such. Sadly, at that moment the only thing to see is a man wearing a neon vest with the words 'Help God's Special Children' written across it, dancing in the road. Judging by the man's appearance God's special children are the very very ugly. And mad.
I tear my eyes away from this disturbing scene when the taxi driver asks me for the hotel's number. Now. I don't like to be harsh about other people's language skills. But a kind person would describe this man's English as Spanish, possily Spanish-whilst-eating-thick-steak. With a bit of portugese and a healthy dose of mad. But again, hey, this is NY baby, maybe they all speak like that here. He dials the number. iI turns out they don't all speak like that here. Still, he asks the following question to the man who answers.
'OK, I PHONE TO ASK HOW TO GET TO EFLLEFF MEERG BAAAHHAHAHAA BROOKLYN BRIDGE'
there is a pause.
'I'm sorry sir, you want to get from where to the hotel?'
'LOOK, I KNOW WHERE HOTEL IS OK! I KNOW! I WANT TO KNOW HOW TO GET MAJEERRKIN FLARG BEGGIN FLEETBOG BRIGE'
longer, slightly more horrendous pause.
'Sir, do you need the address?'

Taxi man hangs up phone in disgust. I start to wonder whether I should point at the Sat Nav after all.

Taxi turns to me. I get a bit worried as the traffic outside can only be described as jurrassic, and but he says 'I have been ill for 2 weeks. 2 weeks. Come back to work today. Allah is punishing me.'
I make a noise that I hope could simultaneously mean 'ahhaha what a great joke'/'no no do not worry friend, our Lord will not leave you'/'please God turn back to the road'. He makes the groaning noises again, only now they are accompanied by the odd comforting 'shit... shit shit shit'. I'm just about to offer to ring the hotel for us, when the New York skyline bursts rather inconvieniently into view, and I'm filled with such touristy wonderful slobbery joy I completely forget about any directional difficulties and want to just have a jolly good cry instead. The soundtrack is a bit unfortunate, seeing as all I can hear is a very gushy radio news story about Susan Boyle (they really do love her here) followed by a cockney lizard selling insurance, but still. I'm in a good place. The driver obviously isn't however, the groaning is getting louder, and its at this point he decides to put on a previously unseen pair of glasses. This is a bit worrying, so I concentrate on the outside. One of those cars like on Pimp My Ride (got the lingo down) drive past blasting out what I'm pretty sure is Disco Opera. We've been driving for about half an hour now, we must be pretty nearby, and for fun Taxi man reaches for the Sat Nav to guide us through the last 10 minutes.

An excellent start, I'm sure you'll agree.