New York city Last month an Opec of"cial introduced us to Wall Street's leading energy investment banker. He asked whether we ever came through the USA. Would we meet some of his clients? Yes, provided he guaranteed that talking to them wouldn't breach SEC rules. Most people who list in the USA regret the experience, though US capital markets are deeper and broader than elsewhere.

But Wall Street succeeds through pragmatism; we 'spoke to the room', where what you say in a private meeting to professional investors is unconstrained by pesky regulators. It's the equivalent of City stockbrokers communicating in wine bars through anonymous mobiles, though few North American investors touch the excellent Californian wines poured.

Specialist analysts are exhaustively informed. Yet really big hitters need little introduction: they summarise what you've said better than you could yourself. They draw out opportunities, risks and weaknesses with the skill of a father confessor. The European custom of speaking to show seniority or cleverness is absent. Their questions contribute as much as any answers.

In Europe you meet fund managers singly. Americans seem comfortable in groups, though they also have pecking orders. The banker organised a large client group at his plush of"ces and an even larger gathering over lunch in the prestigious Club 21. He coyly con"rmed that we had 'a full dance card', with fund managers "ying in from San Francisco, Montreal and Boston. A colleague showed me this 'dance card', which included $2 trillion of funds under management . . . about 5% of world economic activity! Among the household names included the consigliere of one of the world's richest men.

What better occasion than Halloween to scare investors? Our kids were off school and it was time they saw Gotham City, from fake watches to Chinatown. They loved the skyline, the excess and eccentrics . . . this was not the America they expected from Homer Simpson! New York is more of an immigrant than an American city:

foreign accents seem more natural than those of the 'red states'.

The cabbie was from El Salvador: we knew Manhattan better than he did. If we hadn't Spanish as a common language, we would probably still be looking for the hotel.

Checking out digital cameras for "eld trips, I haggled in Spanish with a gaucho and in Arabic with a Syrian.

The Statue of Liberty (below) reminds me of family members who have passed it since France built it in 1886.

My father lived in New Jersey. His grandfather was a New York cop, while his great-uncle and uncle were killed in the San Francisco earthquake . . .

even then we were nomads!

While I was working my family met up with friends. At Rockefeller Centre they asked directions of a policeman who, hearing their accents, asked them where they were from, but as Gaeilge! He was a Ukrainian linguist. Where is Hector when you need him? The adults were surprised, though the kids were unfazed that a Ukrainian would address them in Irish. After all, Halloween is a Celtic festival. Many of the world's 6,000 languages are threatened, but Irish is no longer one of them.

New York worked its magic . . . multi-culturism at work in a frenzy of consumerism. Watching kids agape at FAO Schwartz toy shop, I wondered why don't they rely on the many positives of US culture . . . music, Hollywood, things . . . rather than water-boarding to get their way.

From cabbies to hobos, New Yorkers have become less aggressive: visiting ground zero we realised how 9/11 had changed them. Now they welcome visitors and are generally the most liberal Americans. Osama bin Laden laid a trap into which Bush . . . though not NYC . . . fell.

Even ground zero looks understated . . . a modest exhibition, the building site sealed off as workers rebuild.

Looking into the pit, I remember the times we visited the twin towers and think of the dead of 9/11. I watched the second plane hit live from a Cairo hotel. We were debating whether the "rst collision was an accident. The second impact con"rmed that crisis would bring danger and opportunity.

Two days later I arrived in Baghdad and remember exasperated ministry of"cials declaring "now do you see why we are strict with fundamentalists?" Arabs and Americans had a completely different interpretation of the same event. It seemed that only we could see it from both perspectives.

Yet "ve years on, the perspectives of many Muslims and Wall Street are again converging.

23 October: Dublin Mr Kamikawa arrives for a month's secondment at our Clontarf of"ce . . . he is a senior executive of Japanese conglomerate Itochu. The same week they make a substantial contribution "towards past Iraqi expenses".

Initially suspicious, the Iraqi authorities have got used to the idea: it is hard to imagine an odder couple than exploration junior Petrel and the largest trader of crude oil in the Paci"c Basin. But the partnership is off to a smooth start. They have vast resources and a world-class balance sheet. Billion-euro projects are their meat and drink. We get things done without worrying much about potential pitfalls.

Our structures are somewhat more entrepreneurial than the world's largest companies. Other than insisting on more detailed budgets, Kamikawa "ts in marvellously, showing the combination of courtesy and attention to detail that makes Japan a business leader. For a society supposedly based on seniority, the Japanese seem bereft of arrogance. They appreciate our technical experts for their thorough and detailed knowledge, but mostly their grey hairs and published papers. Entrepreneurs are far less deferential!

I look around my of"ce: suddenly it appears chaotic . . .

not the orderly workplace of a reliable partner. Time to tidy. Some people's desks are neat. Mine is not. But periodically I sort through material, often while talking on the phone or listening to a business podcast.

This time I found various valuable items including a missing share certi"cate that we had searched for over months before "nally getting an indemnity . . . at considerable hassle and expense . . . and lodged in my stockbrokers. Also a refund cheque from the Standard Life "otation, which appeared to have been buried under layers. Piecing together history like an archaeologist: I must have opened those envelopes while on the phone, set them to one side for later action . . . as they were important but not urgent. But later layers of paper covered the valuable documents until they were buried, like Pompeii, awaiting future discovery.

At one level I was relieved that the missing share certi"cate had not indeed been 'lost', only temporarily mislaid. Must apologise to the company secretary, registrar and broker. I wonder what other documents are missing.

I laugh inwardly at my colleagues frenetically preparing their tax returns. For once we submitted early, but 30 years of experience does not seem to make it easier. My travel schedule forced me to get it done early . . .

the Revenue doesn't welcome tardiness. Now I enjoy post-exam euphoria, enhanced by the discomfort of others!

Alas, the joke was on me: arriving home on All Saints Day I "nd a brown envelope containing what I'd thought was an exhaustive tax return. A standard letter requires us to complete Form 11 (for taxpayers chargeable under self-assessment), rather than the standard Form 12 they'd previously sent! Happily, if we comply within 14 days, no surcharge is payable. There must be a book in all this!