This is Weinski the cat, who not only scratched me, but rudely awoke me form my slumbers: though English in origin, she appears to having taken inspiration from Baltimore's most famous literary son, E.A. Poe, and turned into a nefarious hell-cat

Well, we're here. I'm in Baltimore, the city with highest incidence of syphilis and heroin dependency in the US, as well as the third highest murder rate. So, in many ways, it's just like Norwich. The city has a social marketing campaign entitled 'Believe', where the phrase is emblazoned upon billboards, buses and trash cans. This is presumably meant to assuage the drug taking and murdering. I wish them luck...

It's 830 local time, and I've been up for 2 hours, having been bundled awake by Weinski the cat and Lucy the dog. Nothing like a smackdown with the Giordano menagerie to kick start your day. I'm staying here, in a lovely leafy neighbourhood with Lucien's lovely parents Joe and Madeleine (who sadly has no myspace to link to), on a comfy air bed in the same room as Lucien who SNORES LIKE A CONCERTED AND DEDICATED DEFORESTATION PROGRAM (I'm typing this on Lucien's computer, hoping to wake him up, but no avail, apparently he sleeps the sleep of the righteous).

We have a relaxed day ahead of us, popping d to the city, maybe find a bar that's showing Chelsea-Liverpool. While my companion slumbers, I shall spend the morning practicing sounding more British, dropping words such as 'crikey', 'blimey' & 'buggeration' into the conversation. This in turn will encourage strangers to buy me drinks and show me their scars. When they tire of this, I shall roll out my Simon Cowell impression, who is apparently very popular over here. With my jeans hoisted up to near-nipple level, I shall spout disdain at my fellows, and the lap up the applause and resultant additional drinks.
Ta-ta for now...