Guest article: Charlie's report of New York!

What can I say of New York. They call it the big apple. I say it's the big pineapple, banana and melon, all rolled into one. Massive, and fruity.

A virgin to America, I travelled with hope, a tear in my eye, and luckily, a passport. Otherwise I'd never have got in. I was also lucky on the way over, because I managed to pick up an attractive blonde lady on the flight. My, this trip was turning out well.

The taxi driver who picked us up from the airport insisted on talking about Mido, the Egyptian footballer. This was because the driver was Egyptian himself. He then suggested that I pay him 60 pounds rather than 60 dollars. I wasn't falling for that one. I considered docking him his tip, but decided I didn't want to start my holiday with a fight in the street, and hey, since this was America he might even have a handgun. So I paid him a few dollars for his time. Big tipping culture. I was going to have to get used to this.

Adriano, my newly 'made' brother, has a mafia funded apartment near Times Square. He said it was paid for by the 'company' but I know what he really means. Gangsters. My suspicions were confirmed on the first night, when he took us to a Mafia-owned Jazz venue. Amazingly, we were given a table in the front row, even though the venue was packed. I didn't see a secret handshake, but I saw the grin on Adriano's face. We drank like gangsters too, whiskey on the rocks and Hayride cocktails. And a big bloody steak to beef us up. This was the high life.

During the days we hit the streets, walking through the neighbourhoods as Adriano picked up protection money. We hung out in 'Angelique', - his favourite mafia-owned cafe - for strong coffees and even had cupcakes at 'Magnolia Bakery.' Bleeker Street saw guitarists who weren't quite as good as Bruce Springteen try to impress us. Adriano lifted his hand to his jacket pocket as if he might have a gun, and suddenly they improved. King of New York.

Times Square at night was a mixture of dark and very very light. Dazzling. Adverts for new films that weren't coming out until we left. So we saw stand-up comedy, some two bit jokers who loved New York but didn't have much money to show for their toils. One guy who had been voted smartest man in America by Readers Digest, but walked off stage after five minutes without a single tittle, giggle or smirk from the audience. The rest made us laugh, some more than others.

By then, the blonde had left, caught an early flight back to the Queens land, olde England and it's greenery, in stark contrast to the monolithic skyscrapers which were causing me serious awe. I'd romanced her in Central Park, a small little place called Tavern on the Green with chandaliers and fussy waiters, and most importantly, king prawns. Better than that was the diner we went to on the second day, Eggs Benedict and Pancakes with Maple Syrup. I'm drooling now just thinking about it.

Chinatown on the final night, and we just about managed to avoid the Triads. The air was cold but the king prawns in black bean sauce was hot, and the dumplings were steaming. I hadn't had a chinese like this since I was in, well, China.

I woke up and saw New York in the snow. Slush at my feet, salt being scattered by shopkeepers onto the sidewalk. Statues that looked like they had mohican style haircuts because of how the white flakes had landed. My last day. Teenagers who worked in a surf shop built a snowman and attracted the congratulations of passers by. I sheltered in the cinema and watched a film about a pregnant 16 year old which ended up winning no Oscars at all.

Then I flew home, already missing the city and it's Brooklyn Bridge, the majestic view from the Rock, the Empire State, the top of it disappearing into a cloud. The old woman who fed the birds in Greenwich Village. The Irish barmen and their Long Island Iced Tea cocktail which was a little too strong. Adriano's amazing apartment with wooden floor and two flat screen tellys. I missed it all.

I arrived with a tear in my eye, and I left knowing that one day I'd be back to enjoy it all over again.

By Charlie Swinbourne