As the song says, it's so good they named it twice. So I went there twice... so far.

The first time I went was for a day conference. I landed late on the Friday night, met with some colleagues, had a beer, went to sleep, had a full on crazy day, went to a pub, had a very quick walk around part of Central park with the other English guy at the company, then came home.

The second time was a little different as I flew in from Canada having been there at Wattpad's head office for a week and a half prior. So this time I landed in New York on Thursday afternoon. This meant I had more time so I could help setup the next conference and explore more of the city.

And it's a hell of a city.*

* - Sorry, hell of a town. Well at least that's what the song says.

I'm still a country boy at heart and having grown up in very rural southwest England, cities still delight and terrify me in equal measure even though I've been to a fair few in my time.

Of course New York version 2 wasn't my first time in America due the aforementioned lightning fast trip to NY previously, but that wasn't my first time in the US either as I'd spent a month in the southwest states when I was in my early twenties. But this second visit to NY was the first time I'd really seen much of the city itself.

It is loud. Full on. Totally American. And kinda bonkers. But as with all places, the people are usually pretty cool. The one thing that phases me more than anything else in the US though is the guns. British police rarely carry guns; they usually rely on sarcasm, extreme politeness and occasionally handcuffs or severe disappointment if pushed. Seeing NY city police wandering around with machine guns wasn't something I liked, but there we go, everyone has their own systems. Besides, I was there for a conference, to work, to see friends and colleagues and hopefully put away some good food and drink. So that's largely what I did.

The first time I'd gone to NY I got a yellow cab from the airport to where my colleagues were staying. But this time, as I was staying not far from Times Square I thought I'd take the train from the airport instead. It wasn't like the Toronto Subway: it felt edgy, dark, and a bit gritty, a bit like the London Underground but with a different accent. But it got to where I needed to go, so that was fine by me.

My hotel was in one of the back streets to the south west of Times Square and was surrounded by taller buildings. A four or five story brick affair, it seemed like it had once been rather high class but had fallen on hard times. It had a scuffed looking grand piano in the entrance hall, and wood panelling, but everything was a little frayed around the edges. My bedroom was literally a foot bigger than the double bed that was in it, but it was clean and had wifi and a shower. Not sure it had a window, but it did have air conditioning.

That night I'd been invited to meet up with some of my team, some friends, fellow writers, and whoever the heck else turned up at an Irish bar a few blocks away. The food was distinctly average, as was the beer, but the company was excellent. At about 10pm though it turned into a karaoke night, so I made my excuses and wandered out into New York at night. I would have to be extremely drunk to sing in public, and no-one needs to hear a middle-aged Brit trying to hit the high notes in a Queen song.

I was tired, but didn't really feel sleepy, and as usual I was hungry.** And I smelt pizza. And I was in New York. It had to be done.

** - I am perpetually hungry. I'm not sure if I have a high metabolism, hollow legs, or Brian is developing beyond a figment of my imagination and needs his own source of sustenance, but my kids seem to have inherited that particular trait too. Our family food bill is horrendous, but we eat a diverse and interesting set of food and my kids love trying new things so I can't complain.

I walked past several until I saw one that looked particularly appetizing and wandered in for take out. One of the pubs in the city we live in does 'dustbin lid pizzas', they're massive. But the pizzas in NY were immense. One slice could probably feed a family of four, but I'm a sucker for pepperoni pizza, and there was one with not only pepperoni but mushrooms too. Mmm... said Brian.

For a few minutes afterwards I leant against the wall of the pizza place and worked my way through the massive slice of pizza. It was thin, well baked, hot and delicious, and it gave me a few moments to just watch the world drift by too, something it did rather noisily, but still fun to watch. Sated, I retired to my double bed sized box and hit the hay.

The next day was a blur of preparation for the conference the following day, but at one point I found myself navigating down to Brooklyn on the subway to find some colleagues who were sharing a house together. One of them had picked up my laptop power cable that I'd somewhat carelessly left behind in Toronto and brought it along with her, so it gave me an excuse to pop over and say hello.

I was surprised how familiar much of NY looked; the Brownstones, the subway, even Central Park, but then that perhaps made me realise just how many films I'd seen had been filmed in NY***, and I really wanted to nip over to Hell's Kitchen to see if I recognised any of the Daredevil scenery but sadly didn't have the time.

*** - Or in fact Toronto. There are many visual similarities between the two and Toronto is apparently a lot cheaper than NY to film in. I annoy my family regularly by suddenly sitting bolt upright in the middle of a film and saying something like "that graffiti is from the alley between King and Queen streets in Toronto". I've even had to wait for someone to stop filming a few times, both in a hotel I was staying in and on Yonge St itself, and it's a little surreal to see a Yellow NYC Taxi drive past followed by a Toronto Police Car or street tram.

Brooklyn was rather charming, with wide avenues, trees, and various yard sales going on, and the house my colleagues were staying in was a massive, three storey affair with a lovely feel to it. I hung around for a bit, did some work and had a chat then decided to head back into the main part of the city with a colleague.

The journey back was not quite as fun.

As we got on the train, a trendily dressed young woman got on carrying a decent sized stereo and a rucksack. Brian noticed this immediately and his first thought was "music terrorist", and then thought "oh well, looks like we're going to be listening to someone else's music all the way to Central".

We both turned out to be right. The woman reached into her bag, pulled out a microphone and backing CD and proceeded to treat everyone in the carriage to an impromptu song and dance performance. I admit that I couldn't have hit the high notes she was trying desperately to ascend to either, but it was a little like listening to someone learning the violin; some bits were rather good, some bits excruciatingly painful. After thrilling everyone with her performance, saying thank you to everyone clapping her (including one old guy who had been located just behind her gyrating bottom and who probably hadn't had that much fun in years), she jumped off the train at the next station, legged it down to the next train carriage, and I would assume gave a repeat performance next door.

"Wow," said Brian gaining momentary control of my mouth while I was in shock. I must've muttered it louder than I thought I did though as a gentleman next to me grinned at me and shook his head wearily. "Is that common?" I asked him.

"Sadly yes. Some are good, some are bad, some are..."

"Painful?" I suggested.

He laughed. "Yes, that's probably the nicest way to put it."

"Well hopefully the next one will be a mime artist, at least they don't say anything."

"That's France Gav," noted my colleague.

"No mime artists in New York?" I asked.

The chap next to me shrugged and suggested that the police would probably shoot them.

I didn't see any police on the subway. They probably didn't get issued auditory protection.

A few hours later, and with more of the conference set up done, I met up with a group of colleagues at a local eatery north of Times Square and had a very good meal, a nice glass of wine, and a great chat. And, as we were all staying in roughly the same area, after the meal we walked south together.

It took us through Times Square.

The lights, music, people, bustle, and neon hit me. Hard. After a few steps I found myself gritting my teeth and speeding up. I'd been wandering along chatting with a colleague, but stopped talking so I could concentrate on walking. After a block or so he tapped me on the shoulder. "Gav, turn right here."

Aaargh, said Brian as I nodded mutely and headed into a side street. Immediately things calmed down, and I relaxed. To this day I don't know if he spotted that I wasn't enjoying my surroundings, or that we just needed to change direction, but I was certainly grateful.

"That's better, I can hear myself think again."

"Agreed, we're better off out of that mad house. It's pretty crazy at night in the Square."

"Absolutely."

Reminder to Brian. Do not go into Times Square again after dark without protection.

The next day started with a vat of coffee. Always a good start. At the venue, there was a coffee place on the ground floor, and they sold coffee in massive takeout flasks. I'd never seen one before, but it seemed like a good idea and the team seemed happy to see me when I turned up sloshing gently a few minutes later with a bag full of sugar, milk, cups and stirrers.

I've always loved doing behind the scenes stuff. At Uni I used to do lights for various bands and saw some great live music because of it. There's a certain satisfaction in knowing things are ready to go, that you can open the doors and let in the punters, and that they're going to have a good day. That day I wasn't on stage, so I was man on the door. I always wonder what people think when the first thing they see is a bald guy in a company T-shirt. Even my father told me I look like a thug when I'm thinking (resting grumpy face), so I tried to dispel the stereotype by carrying a massive amount of free pens and waving at people. I'd rather look like a mug than a thug perhaps.

And also you get to talk to people and learn stuff. One of my team even brought a baby along which was smashing. Babies are cool, particularly other peoples as you can give them back when they drop a truckload into their nappy (diaper). Her baby was particularly cool though and managed to throw up on a colleague just after I'd passed her over. A baby with comic timing is always a wonderful thing.

As with all events, it was a busy blur, there was some clapping and then it was done.

After tidying up and closing the doors a small group of us headed out into the sunlight from the venue and spotted a pub across the road, but before we could make a move we became aware of two chaps having a bit of a barney****.

**** - sorry, argument. Barney comes from Cockney rhyming slang - Barney Rubble = trouble. Shame, cos Barney always seemed such a nice guy. Now Fred, he was definitely one for a barney. Hmm... that didn't come out right.

One bloke had the other pinned to the wall by his neck and looked like he was about to thump him. But before he did, five rather burly looking policemen landed on them. Literally. Within about two seconds, one was on the floor with two cops on top of him and his arm up behind his back, the other was up against the wall similarly restrained and the fifth guy was on his radio with one hand on his gun.

"Blimey."

"Time to move Gav. We don't need to hang around here and get arrested."

"Do what?"

"Dude, move."

"What the hell am I going to get arrested for, being British? I thought that was going to happen at the airport too."*****

***** - Border control in the USA is scary as hell. The customs official on duty on my queue of quaking tourists was not a nice man. He was built like a brick wall, looked like his cat had shat in his cereal that morning, and seemed to be chewing a wasp. The first man who I saw interrogated by him had a conversation that went something like...

"Passport and details... what the hell is this?"

"I was wondering if you could help me fill that in please sir. I couldn't find a pen."

"Seriously? I'm not a ----ing secretary. Here's a pen. ---- off over there, fill it in and only come back here when you have it done. You understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Next!"

The next poor supplicant happened to be a lady carrying a little girl of about two. She was trying to juggle her bags, passport and papers, and her child.

"Next I said! Passport and papers. Why are you here?"

"I'm um... oh, sorry. I just need a moment." The poor lady was getting more and more flustered and I started to move forward to see if I could do something.

"Guard!" The border control guy had hit the alarm. "I need you to take this lady away, I can't help her."

And she was gone.

Holy shit! said Brian

"Next!"

"Ah, British."

"Well that's what it says on the passport bonehead," said Brian silently. "Yes sir," said Gavin.

"Okay, fingerprints on the scanner there please. Good, done. Have a nice stay sir."

"Er.. thank you."

"What the hell was that?" Shut the hell up and move Brian.

So we moved away from the ruckus before Brian could get us into any trouble and headed over the road to a splendid looking hostelry.

The pub across from the venue was bedecked in splendid Halloween decoration, did a great meal and served some good beer. The after event party is always worth it too, and we had a good night.

And then it was Sunday. As usual, by about 7am, Brian was bouncing off the walls so I went for breakfast. Breakfast in New York is something special. In fact if you go to the right places food in general in New York is rather good. I had until early afternoon until I had to fly home, so I decided that food and a wander around was a good idea.

After a small hillock of food, I lifted my stomach out of its ever deepening bum groove and decided to head down to the 9/11 memorial.******

****** - I was working on a landfill site in rural Somerset when 9/11 happened. We were building an extension to the existing waste site and in my little site cabin I still remember watching the footage on the internet as planes flew into the towers.

I will never forget that as long as I live. And although my family wasn't directly affected, the fact that you knew people were dying live on screen was chilling. So, while I was there it felt right to pay my respects.

Well done New York: it's impressive, yet simple. Dark stone with far too many names carved into it shows the human cost of that day. Every now and again a name is highlighted with the careful placement of a rose, or another flower, I assume from a loved one or well-wisher. It was a somber but moving experience, and I'm glad I made the journey.

I kept moving after that, and eventually hit the edge of the land. In the distance an iron lady raised a torch and I nodded at her but realised I had just enough time to get back to my hotel, claim my luggage and grab some lunch before I had to leave.

Lunch was a good sandwich and a chunk of cheesecake. I'm not normally one for sweet stuff really, with the exception of a good créme brulée. But Juniors Cheesecake is apparently world famous, so, when in Rome... it was pretty good.

My second trip to New York had certainly been a bit more interesting than the first one, but it wasn't my first trip to the USA, that had been some 25 years earlier when I'd taken my first ever flight aged 22 and spent a month out there with a good friend. America in 1995 was cool, as were the people. Maybe the important things don't change...