Come Back To What You Know

It has been ten months since I left the United Kingdom. In that time I have married Krissa and fallen in love with her a little more every day.

In that time I have come to know New York City better than any other city in the world, watched the autumn sun go down over Manhattan from the top of the Empire State Building, drunk from stein at long tables under the budding spring trees of Queens, and played the summer clown for the children of Brooklyn.
But people, more than geography and history, make me feel at home here.

It's the guy sitting on a pile of Metro newspapers in the subway station in the morning, his 'Free! Free! Free paper! Free free!' as much a part of my morning as the first cup of coffee. As most of the takers streaming past are resolutely non-vocal, I've always made an effort to be both grateful and personable, and we had a little chat in passing yesterday morning...a trifle surreal, I grant you.
"Hello sir. Here go. Habla Espanol? Free! Free!"
"Si, un pocito."
"Free! Free! Thank you, good day. A little, uh? Is good. Free! Free free!"
"I'd like to know more. Oh, there's a train. Bye."
"Adios! Adios, yes? Pocito? Ha ha. Free! Free! Free!"

Compare and contrast.
The amount of time in between the various incarnations of the next conversation makes no difference to it whatsoever.

"Morning Bob."
"Morning Stuart."
"I'll take a County Press and a 'Lucky 7s' card for my Mum, please."
"That'll be one pound fifty two."
(as I scrabble for change)
"How's Alex?"
"Oh, all right. Off in South America somewhere. Enjoying herself. Doing quite well, actually."
"Great. Well, tell her I said hi if you speak to her."
"That I will."
"Take care."

It's weekend mornings when Krissa and I can't be bothered to make breakfast, which happen more often than you'd think, so that the next conversation can happen.
"Heey, English."
"We okay to order?"
"Sure."
(Krissa) "Grilled cheese and french fries -"
(Nico) "yeah yeah yeah, crispy whatever."
(Krissa) "Thank you."
(Me) "I'll have the Irish Breakfast."
We hand over the menus and Nico responds in a cheesy attempt at an English accent, an accent which can't escape from its Greco-New York owner.
(Nico) "Chee-ers mate!"

Compare and contrast.
On summer evenings when the barbecue isn't running or the family have been out all day and no one feels like cooking.

"Hey Len! Evening Lin."
"Hello Stu."
Len comes around from behind the fryer and shakes my hand, while Lin, sticking her head up from whatever she's doing, carries on working further back in the shop.
"What can we do for you this fine evening? Oh, who have we here?"
Coming forward from behind the fryer means that Len can see the whole queue, and more often than not a couple of kids are waiting with their parents for fish and chips. Len reaches behind the counter and pulls out a tub of lollipops. The children, shy, take sweets and run back to wait with their parents, or play, running around up and down the steps.
"How are you?"
We chat. I order food for the family at home. Lin, shuttling back and forth from the till to the back of the shop either refuses payment entirely or accepts some trifling amount. Len slips a couple of cans of Boddingtons into the bag. We discuss upcoming plans for a barbecue or meal. It's hard to leave the shop.

And friends.
I could paint them for you but I couldn't do them justice. There are drinks and food and dancing and moments and laughter and recounting stories and gossip; The Bohemian, Saigon Grill, Sabor Tropical, Grimaldi's, Revival, Naidre's, The Gate, French Frank's, Jo Daflo's, Colonel Bogey's, The Hog's Head, Cask and Crispin, The Spyglass Inn, The Bargeman's Rest...the list goes on on both sides of the Atlantic.

Family...again. There could be no honest and truthful and worthy representation of my families. My parents and my parents-in-law have yet to meet, but my Dad and Krissa's Dad share a very particular sense of humour, our mothers an aura of elegance, and all of them are superlatively wonderful people.

All of which means that this week-long trip to England will a first for me, because I'll be going home both ways.