New York landing

After getting in a seemingly unlicensed taxi when I arrived in a hase at JFK I was surprised that I wasn't found three days later in a body bag washed up on Brighton Beach. The driver was actually the nicest guy and told me all about his family and his brother who's a rapped and so on, but don't worry, I won't be doing that again.

Feeling better now, having my morning coffee and porridge in my darling Godfather's apartment and it's hellish rain outside. It's situated on a wide stark suburban road with nothing but bent trees and people fighting the wind and rain. The apartment itself is very quaint with ornaments lining the shelves and soft brown furniture.

So last night I went on date. A little ambitious I suspect, but when in Rome...

We went to a place called BAM, Brooklyn Academy of Music to see a Icelandic production of Metamorphesis. The production was innocent and fresh, not like the cynical theatre of London. I loved it, did even though I got caught nodding off several times by my date.

The building was incredible,a dilapidated music hall founded by Mr Harvey Litchenstein, BAM's president in the late 80's for Peter Brook's production of The Mahabharata. They've hardly touched it and with all the original paintwork still intact the space felt like a secret. A surreal and magical place for my first introduction to the city. We were snuck in through the back door by a very jolly stage manager called Pascal. He took us through the stage and we got to poke around the set where later the actors swung and climbed about the set. My date did seem to know everyone at the aftershow drink with strange Icelandic nibbles and I stood there enthralled and slightly reeling from tiredness and displacement.

I felt slightly in awe of myself, landing so smoothly on only the first night.

But now the rain is battering down and there are talks of buying a guitar in town.