My body clock is entirely broken. I woke up at 4am and didn’t know what to do with myself, so decided to take an early morning subway journey over to Brooklyn for a leisurely crack-of-dawn saunter back to Manhattan island over the Brooklyn Bridge. Well, as close an approximation to ‘leisurely’ as one can reasonably get when surrounded by several lanes of horn-honking SUVs.

And then it dawned on me. New York reminds me of a children’s book that I greatly enjoyed my dad reading to me 17,000 times when I was little: Mr Blogg’s Bridge. For the uninitiated, Mr Blogg lives a life of quiet contemplation on his peaceful island. Until property magnate Mr Turnover weasels his way in and fills the place with houses, businesses, traffic and pollution – to the disgust of the permanently disgruntled Parkinson, Mr Blogg’s seagull sidekick. Perhaps, once upon a time, Manhattan was an island idyll. Not so much now.

Brooklyn Bridge (and newspaper-reading squirrels) successfully navigated, and the exhaust-filled air proving strangely restorative, it was time to find some breakfast. Where better than a traditional American diner? The ‘car-fee’ started flowing within about 5 seconds of sitting down, and was thick, gloopy, high-octane stuff to match the fug of the expressway outside. My ‘lumberjack’ breakfast comprised of sufficient food to feed a family of four for at least three days: three very large pancakes with syrup, five rashers of bacon, a plate-sized slice of ham, sausage, scrambled eggs, and something curiously referred to as a ‘biscuit’, that bore no resemblance to a Rich Tea whatsoever. Replete, I set about my work for the morning.

By midday, I felt it was time to leave the USA… for the United Nations headquarters which is technically an international zone, complete with passport and security checks. First stop was the delegates’ dining room, which enjoys commanding views over the East River and offers an all-you-can-eat feast from around the world to ambassadors, UN delegates and unimportant members of the public like me.

Today’s fayre included a rather British beef and barley broth (presumably chosen for its alliterative qualities), clam salad, pork loin in fig reduction, poached salmon in French white wine sauce, smoked chicken legs, steamed jasmine rice, roasted sweet potatoes, and various side salads… including an authentically Thai som tam. Desserts were similarly extensive, featuring cheesecakes, flans, pies, fresh fruit, and a rather decadent mocha tart. Yum. There was also a cheeseboard featuring all manner of loveliness from each continent.

The delegates’ dining room wasn’t just about the global gastronomy, it was about the eavesdropping. Sitting in close proximity was a group of officials debating disarmament (‘I firmly believe that alcohol is a prerequisite for withdrawing weapons’). Another pair were talking about the ramifications of 9/11 on UNHQ security. And a further conversation covered the technology investigating the mysterious disappearance of flight MH370 – although sadly it yielded no exclusive ‘scoop’.

The tour itself was somewhat frustrating. The general assembly chamber was closed due to reconstruction. The security council chamber was inaccessible due to a closed meeting (although a tantalising glimpse was afforded when the door was briefly opened by a security guard telling our guide to be quiet). We were briefly ushered through the public gallery of another chamber, though photos were prohibited. Only in the room intended for the resolution of colonisation squabbles were we allowed to take photos.

Like all good tours, we ended up in the gift shops (plural), which did have the novel distinction of including a post office. As it’s not part of the USA, the UN headquarters has its own postal service, stamps and post boxes. It also offered free wifi, which was handy for my first Skype call home from no-man’s-land.