Double Tree

Nestled in at the really rather awful Doubletree at JFK, N is now grumpy after battling with a cab driver who was not entirely thrilled that we weren't going into Manhattan. I felt a bit sorry for the man, because as I announced "The Doubletree please," in my most pleasant voice, I think he thought I said "W" and of course perked up at the prospect of journeying into the city. The hotel is okay just really tatty. At least they gave us warm chocolate chip cookies at the front desk, which come in a nice brown recycled bag with a treatise (WHY A COOKIE?) written on the back of it. ("Simple. Cookies are Warm, Personal & Inviting.") I point out that if you have to explain why you're giving cookies, doesn't it rather defeat the point, but he's too grumpy to be amused by this and announces that he's going to bed and has settled down with his laptop and the high speed internet connection, rather like me I suppose. I can hear the hum of the lorries on the Van Wyck Expressway outside my window.