21/06/2011 – 14:35
The airport is a strange beast. Its the only place in the world where everyone is on the same page, where rules are adhered to and time waits for no man. It seems like a thousand years ago that I was last in ASDA, cursing the day evolution caused us to stand upright. Cacophonies of shuffling brainless arseholes hogging the oxygen and getting in everyone's way. Not here though. Everyone seems comfortable and at ease; behind me a small child sleeps across five chairs, whilst in front of me there is a group of teenagers eagerly awaiting their flight to become part of Camp America. I sit here decked out in a Supreme hood, Adidas three stripe track pants and my Nike AirMax 1's (or as Emma calls them, 'Netto shoes') people watching like a seasoned veteran. 99% of the people here are attractive, therefore a boring viewing spectacle. I have an hour and a half before my gate opens, my ears already exhausted from the likes of Adam and Joe talking absolute jibberish. I am bored. Think I'll go for a poo, it'll pass up at least 10 minutes.
19:45/14:45 (US)
We're flying like fucking sparrows now and my back feels like it's been punched by Asterix. Of course the bloke behind me is twitching constantly and annoying the piss out of me, but that aside the flight so far has been fairly theraputic. I demolished some alleged chicken mush and listened to Gustav Holst's 'Mars, the Bringer of War' to give rise to the occasion, and , more importantly, to make me feel like some kind of bad-ass sky captain. If I had the money I'd be doing this voyage by Zeppelin, wearing a monocle whilst doing so and brushing up on my sword fighting skills, but hey-ho this is the real world and as such I have the back of a sponge and the leg room of a school hall seat. Again, if time permits (which it shall, considering it's a near seven hour flight) I'm going to unleash another turdule and revel in the fact that I am releasing the beast at altitudes only accomplished by Superman... and the other thousands of planes which fly around the world each week.
00:30/19:30
Final preparations before landing. My legs have barely moved in seven hours and as such I'm starting to feel like a sea anenome, but with shitter hair. I've been sitting by the wing the whole flight, window seat an' all. The urge to do a Shatner and shout “There's something out there, on the wing!” is unbearable, at any moment you could look at me and see me trembling, using all my might to not launch into an unprovoked Twilight Zone reference. I don't think it'd go down well.
01:45/20:45
Landed, breezed through immigration like a hero, and am sat here waiting for my bastard case to arrive. To get me in the mood I'm listening to 'Illmatic' by Nas and getting into the New York State of Mind (if anyone dares correct me with 'Empire' then I will hunt you down and rip your face off with my teeth). The other passengers are gathered at the foot of the carousel, seemingly worshipping it like some kind of Incan God, giving praise for the gifts bestowed upon them. “A Samsonite business case! Thank you oh omnipotent one, I am not worthy.”
02:50/21:50
Sitting in the cab en-route to my hotel for the night. The driver is a cheery Indian bloke and the radio is as bombastic and crass as you'd expect, it practically borders on self-parody. The driver's accent is welcoming and made me ponder, as he sounds exactly the same as an Indian male in Britain. I expected some kind of different tonal inflection, or different slang but nothing. Its pretty cool. Also being a huge geek, I can't help but get GTAIV flashbacks from everything, a true testament to the guys at Rockstar's artistic visions and skills. When we were exiting JFK I couldn't help but think “Wow, I've massacred innocents with an M-16 there!” A tear was shed, it was a beautiful moment.
02:52/21:52
And then it dawns on you. The entirity of the Manhattan skyline in one eyeful. It is fucking massive, makes Liverpool and London combined look like a glow-worm, a dead one at that. America, your new favourite son has arrived.
