The title for this piece was not my choice. The dubious credit for that goes to one Mary Belz. Part of the Belz Sister’s Travelling Troupe of Wonder, we were told, upon arrival at the house she shares with one Grace Belz (also a Troupe founder member) that this must be the title. It was almost the first thing she said (the actual first thing she said was “Hi, did you see me naked?”). So, to honour her wishes there it is.

Baltimore. Another city. This one however is not like the others. You tell people you are going to Seattle, Portland, Chicago or New York, the response is overwhelmingly “Ooooh I love it there, it’s so cooool, oh you are gonna love it, you must eat this, do that and then try the other…” when you say Baltimore they say “don’t get shot”, “why would you do that?” or simply “good luck”.

I have had a blast here. Aided by the adorable Belz sisters and for a couple o’nights their loverly friend Beth Jenkins, Baltimore is hive of wonder. The first night saw us head to the local brewery, and saw Conny the Lightweight get a little tipsy with Belz the Elder, Belz the Younger had to run a race with the aforementioned Ms Jenkins the next day so went easy on the sauce, despite my protestations that beer is a good source of carbs and that wheat beer in Austria is designated a sports drink due to it’s isotonic properties. I met an old family friend of the Belz sisters and enjoyed a refreshingly blunt and fuck-filled chat about the horror of Trump and the disgust that many actual Americans feel at being American right now and that the world can witness their once great country descend the PT Barnum state of shite that it’s presidential election has lowered to. We enjoyed a local bar/eaterie where we sat under the decapitation of a moose (to which Mary exclaimed “that can’t be real, look at the size of that thing, it’s nostrils are as big as Beth’s ears*, look at that waddle, I just wanna slap that waddle, WHAT A BEAST!) I learned that Buffalo Sauce is just Tabasco with butter and makes for a wonderful nappé for a portion of fried Brussel sprouts…who on earth woulda known that?!

Day 2 was a good one. We set out early to catch Grace as she finished her leg of the race. We didn’t actually achieve our goal as Mary, not known for her directional integrity, mostly sat on a step. She also took us two blocks in one direction, then realised that we were going in the exactly wrong direction, so took us two blocks in a different direction, at which point she realised that a; might be the wrong direction and that b; Grace was already finished, so instead we went to the local cafe.

I smashed down the butteriest grilled cheese in history, met the Belz parents and the other Belz (the Belz’s are a delightful clan). We headed into town for the end of the marathon, and day beers. In order to get past the security bag check, grace had to fold her bag and put it down her underwear. This was the advice of the security guard, who then stated that he saw nothing. I stashed our camera in my hood and gingerly strode through…these kind of things still bring a bead of sweat to my forehead. We passed the market and more day beers, and moseyed to the Greater Jenkins household in Baltimore to a post run party, with a roof deck and more day beers.

The highlight of the party was in fact the Blue Angels, for you British folk think Red Arrows only blue, not red. Those guys were ridiculous, those planes must be two seater fighter planes retro fitted to accommodate the ginormous testicles each of those pilots stashes in their jump-suits, I am not sure if they have female pilots but even they possess infinitely more in their jocks than mere men such as I. Somehow, conversation shifted to the use of the mediterranean ready, aim, fire poo hole toilet (must have been linked to missile targeting or something) which involved me and some quite descriptive charade style enactments, in particular regarding the “do not climb the rim and squat for you may indeed end up split in two via the jacksy with shards of bowl amongst the considerable wounds” signs (ok that’s more paraphrasing than quotes, but I am only a word or so off I reckon).

Conny having scolded me and my thoughts of an afternoon nap previously, disappeared to nap while Mary threw down seventeen or so more beers.

Home for tea and I ended up in a dive bar with girls, who don’t play pool, playing pool drinking cocktails. It was more fun than it sounds, and we ate Tater Tots. I love Tater Tots.

Day 3 was the tour. Intrepidly led by our directionally challenged host sister, we hit the town. Tour highlights included, and these are indeed direct quotes.

“That’s little Italy. It’s a small place with lots of Italians”

“Baltimore is a very historical place”

“This is Federal Hill, it is very historical…Federally”

“Here is a place”

“That is an area”

“We are coming to Light Street, all the good bars are there”

Day 4 involved much strolling around Washington. We learned that it was neither a state nor simply a town, but a bit of both and something of neither all at once. We witnessed the droves of tourist folk like ourselves walking the mall et al all in near 30° heat, for which I was not dressed and suffered considerably from the batwings and their associated chaffe.

Conny learned that the White House is indeed in a city and is not a country pile. I learned that the big statue of Lincoln is at the Lincoln memorial. We did see some fantastic paintings in the national gallery, the skill of some of those old masters is incredible. Perhaps masterful. Go figure.

We also found a T-shirt, fresh, in a bag, with receipt. I was hoping it was a Trump T shirt, but sadly it was for the Jefferson memorial. Still that dude had some wise words to say if you believe the memorial that the Manhattan Orangutan could learn from, don’t know how he was as a president, my history is not that strong, but I am of the opinion that his powdery bones and dust of his rotted corpse would do a better job than that buffoon, but hey, enough of politics.

Day 5 you can guess was spent on a computer.

*Beth does not have oversized ears. They are indeed a fine set of lugs. If one were pushed one would say they are the perfect size for her perfect head, but one wouldn’t want her to think that one had spent an inappropriate portion of the evening studying her head or ears. Anyway, one digresses, it is the Belz of the M. variety that has particularly small ears and had to resort to Beth’s as an example. Glad I cleared that up.