Day Four – Under the Boardwalk, Atlantic City. Resorts Hotel.

Woke up to a vision of the Taj Mahal. Sadly, Donald Trump’s leviathan monstrosity, and not the jewel of Agra. The giant neon sign “Taj Mahal Trump” prompted a few titters from those of us familiar with 8 pints and a Jalfrezi.


Atlantic city. Imagine Blackpool without the charm or Vegas without the class. (I’m joking) Already spoke to a couple of locals who agreed that the place was much nicer before the casinos moved in. I can imagine. Apparently, there was a time when you have to dress up smart to be on the boardwalk. Barechest and tattoos is the minimum requirement now. At least we’ve got the Atlantic with all its strongarm beauty crashing on the shore nearby. (However, the surf is drowned by the air conditioning from where I’m sitting.)
Night off tonight, so took a stroll down the Boardwalk (suitably dressed) and sampled some Salt Water Taffy. Now, I remember this from the ‘Friends’ episode – Ross really liked it? Christ, it’s like a gobful of Germolene. A half-time conference league football match in your kisser. Never again.
Stopped by an over-priced Asian restaurant and had an under-sized soft shell crab. So far, I think I’ve spent as much as I’ve earned.