In a gas station in Thoreau, New Mexico I left these words, entitled, American Dreams.

'I went to the wood because I wanted to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach and not when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not want to live what was not life, living is so dear. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.' Henry Thoreau, Walden.

Ever since I can remember I've always wanted to go to America. Initially it was fuelled by Sunday afternoons spent watching those1940's musicals. Many a secret childhood hour was given over to tap dancing on my Mother's suitcase in a pair of her highheels, whilst a scratchy rendition of 42nd Street played at 78rpm's.

Eventualy my wish was fulfilled when, aged 10, I went to New York to visit my Grandparents. Up to this point the only contact I'd had with my Mother's side of the family had been through large, brown parcels that arrived each Christmas. Inside my Grandma would enclose the most outlandish clothes for my sister and me. I distinctly remember 2 identical polyester dresses. They were egg yolk yellow, frilled with scratch loops of nylon 'lacy' trim. The skirts of the dresses followed an A-line pattern and stuck out as if wired. I wore mine at every available opportunity.

At University, I took every American Literature class I could and exchanged my Ginger Rogers routine to waxing lyrical about The Great Gatsby.

I have a recurring dream every month or so. In this dream I am on plane bound for America. I never arrive, as the plane is always diverted at the last minute and I end up in Manchester.