At least the cream cheese is nice.

"Maybe it will start getting better soon"

We used this phrase at least ten times as we drove through Philadelphia. I've got to admit, I felt a bit stupid.

See, I thought (silly me!) that Philadelphia was a city in America, right. But as it turns out, Philadelphia is a horrible slum district in deeply corrupt and dilapidated central Africa. Who knew?

Note: this is sarcasm. (I know that you know that. But Americans seriously DO NOT get sarcasm. AT ALL.)

The road we were driving down wasn't a road. It had no road markings. It was in fact an old tram track, and yes, it was exactly as uncomfortable as that sounds to drive on.

We knew it was bad when the streets were no longer metal signs, but instead just handwritten pieces of paper; weather beaten and cellotaped on. And there were no traffic lights, either, just a fat man casually waving the cars along with a spliff in one hand and a small handgun in the other.

OK I made up that last bit to sound more interesting. But the rest is true.

It was intimidating. Every stop put extra strain on the fabric of the underpants, and I silently drafted my will on pen and paper.

Our trusty sat nav, Soothing Richard, had led us wrong, and Philadelphia, which had looked very nice from the bridge, had turned out to be the worst night of an otherwise excellent trip.

Thankful for the intact-ness of our car windows, we turned around and headed back to the motel just across the state line.


We ordered Domino's pizza to calm down.