Colm O'Regan: 'I fantasise about throwing something at their car as they pass'

This week, 21 years ago, on a sweltering hot evening I got off a train in New Orleans. It was the end of the first leg of a train trip around the States after my J1 visa summer in New York. The youth hostel I was staying at was on Carondelet Street. Outside the station, I got into a taxi.

“Carrindellitt Street” I said to the driver. In my weird J1 accent that I can only describe as New Cork. He was puzzled.