No sleep till Brooklyn

I got up early and gave myself plenty of time to get to Heathrow. To kill some time I sat in departures sewing patches onto my battlevest. Got some pretty funny looks from some of the more prestigious class of passenger.

The flight to New York was as agreeable as these things can be. I basically read my book the whole way, finishing it shortly before landing (Excession by Iain M Banks if you're interested). The flight landed in New York at about half seven in the evening.

Then things became a bit stressful. Once I managed to get the Sky Train connection to the Subway, signage and information seemed to become a bit sparse. I asked for directions and ended up being sent in the wrong direction on several occasions. The temperature, plus the mammoth back pack and the shear amount of time spent travelling where taking a toll and I didn't think I was ever going to make it. Finally I stumbled across some NYPD who after consulting their I-phone, got me on the right track.

When I finally disembarked around the corner from our apartment I was delighted to discover the local store had large chilled bottles of Sierra Nevada. That kept me going the last few hundred meters, where I collapsed into the hallway a sweaty mess. Just before midnight. Not the best way to spend your birthday, but I was there in the end, so all good.

[Pic: Prospect Park, the penultimate Subway Station on my long route to the apartment]