The Six Million Dollar Man. Buck Rogers. The Dukes of Hazzard. Different Strokes. Family Ties. The West Wing. The Sopranos. Breaking Bad. After a childhood spent a thousand miles from the Antarctic with two TV channels and AM radio, America made as much sense to me as Oz did to Dorothy.
Then one day I disappeared down the hole in the sky and emerged in Dallas. JR was nowhere to be seen, just a cop frisking Mexicans in the carpark of a burger joint. The book suppository was a whole lot closer than I thought and the underpass reeked of stale piss rather than 50 year old intrigue. The hotel smelt of stale pond water, the shower didn’t drain and the idea of a cheap motel was realised in the ankle deep shower water of my friends wash.
The America I had in my mind? I was 42 when I made it, I didn’t expect the Wizard. But I don’t know if I was ready for just how far the sweaty guy in a booth had let himself go.