The Eastern State Penitentiary and more...

The Eastern State Penitentiary, Philadelphia, USA

In my hotel room (room 1712) there is a television, like in most hotel rooms; and it goes without saying that here in the USA there's a lot of channels and most of it is pretty much rubbish. Well, one channel proved itself worthwhile and that was the channel promoting tourism in Philadelphia. While watching it, lying on my bed, I spotted something very interesting: the Eastern State Penitentiary, a now defunct prison right in the centre of the town which is run as a museum. In short, it's incredible and if you're in Philadelphia for any reason, make sure you get on over there because it's brilliant.

I took a cab over there from the Doubletree yesterday lunchtime, having worked all morning in the room, and it was the best decision I ever made. For a start there's an audio tour narrated by the great Steve Buscemi and then there's the overall haunting quality of the place, with it's now empty and dilapidated old cells, complete with rusty bed frames, the foreboding high walls and battlements, this place is really like an old castle. So definitely pay a visit if you're in the area, that's my advice.

Al Capone's cell at Eastern State Penitentiary...

Lunch was at Jack's across the street: a cheese steak (actually, I'll take back what I said about them, they're not that good and I should have ordered something lighter). Lunch was fine, but a little lonely. Now that my colleague has gone home I'm left alone and while it's okay, it's good to have somebody to chat to over lunch. Not today. I sat there with a large bottle of sparkling mineral water and a Becks Blue (oh, I didn't need that Becks Blue, no sir) and, well, it gets a little depressing. Later I took the trolley bus, which was free, back to the Doubletree – or as close as it took me, which was Macy's – and then wandered around the town for a bit before heading back to the room to watch a bit of television, make some finishing touches to an article I was writing and then consider what I was going to do for dinner.

I wandered around the city in the dark, up Locust, past Pietro's where my colleague and I had enjoyed dinner a couple nights ago, and began to get a little despondent about things. Where's the fun gone? Nothing appealed to me food wise, everything was crowded and noisy and the food not that good, perhaps I should just head back to the hotel and watch television, that cheese steak at lunch was enough, I could easily get through to breakfast. But then I found Bellini, an Italian restaurant that at first looked a little pricey and probably could be if you went over the top. I walked around a bit more, but then decided that Bellini was likely to be the best bet, so I ambled in and took a seat. Zahara the waitress was very welcoming. She ran through the specials of the day and I later opted for one of them, the chicken and lentil soup, which was tremendous. Some bread had arrived, but I only had one small piece and awaited my main course: grilled or baked or pan-fried fillet of salmon on a bed of green beans and accompanied by a side of fresh asparagus – I probably could have gone without the asparagus, but it was wonderful and I ate the lot. A bottle of sparkling mineral water accompanied this amazing meal and I finished with a peppermint tea, vowing to return, possibly in a few hours, for lunch the following day (I rather fancied some home-made pasta to fuel me up for tomorrow night's flight home). I left the restaurant and walked back up Locust (Bellini was in a side road off of Locust) and I was amazed by how close this excellent restaurant was to the Doubletree. My colleague and I had missed it.

Spooky cell at Eastern State Penitentiary...

The food's been good, though, to be fair. I've eaten salmon most of the week, I've avoided desserts and I've definitely remained off the alcohol.

This morning when I woke up I thought I'd throw all my pants into the corridor just for the fun of it and then, naked, go for a run along Broad Street before breakfast. Actually, I'm lying, I didn't do anything of the sort. Why would I? It was just the thought of doing it that made me laugh. I mean, had I actually done it I'd be in the modern equivalent of the Eastern State Penitentiary, or in Bellevue, if it still exists. I'd probably make the local television news too, but there you go.

The police were out in force this morning cycling around town. It must be some kind of sponsored ride, but they sure need to do some exercise. Yesterday I saw a policemen walk into a Dunkin' Donuts store not far from the hotel and that, of course, is the big cliché, that of American policemen and donuts (or doughnuts).

All week I've stuck to the same breakfast and today was my last one: a bowl of cubed melon, a bowl of porridge, scrambled egg, 'breakfast potatoes' and one sausage, not forgetting a mug of tea. It was good and it kept me going until lunch time. I've avoided bread most of the time, avoided desserts too and as I've just said I've not touched any alcohol. All round pretty boring.

Another cell block at Eastern State Penitentiary...

It's odd how not drinking is changing my outlook on life. The strange bit is that the fun has been taken out of things – the enjoyment too. I used to look forward to finding a decent restaurant and ordering a large glass of Cabernet with my meal, but now that I'm not drinking the whole appeal of eating anywhere has disappeared as food becomes merely a necessity, a fuel stop and, therefore, anywhere will do. Last night in Bellini it was the same. I found myself sitting there, bored, nobody to talk to, and there was seemingly no point in being there. Other guests were celebrating with friends and family, there were a few couples on a night out and me, sitting there playing with my iphone, not even enjoying the people watching element of solitary dining. When you're not drinking, bars and restaurants lose meaning and even now I'm revisiting my decision to return to Bellini for lunch, what's the point? I might as well go to the coffee shop next door to the hotel (the Good Karma Café) and have an orange blossom tea and a cookie, where the light is sufficient enough for me to read Unknown Pleasures by Peter Hook, the story of his time in the band Joy Division (which became New Order). In fact it would be fair to say that coffee shops have taken over from pubs and bars and restaurants as the places to chill out. It gives me a new vice, though: cake. And by cake I mean anything – a millionaire's shortbread, coffee and walnut cake, Bakewell tart, you name it.

Dinner at Bellini last night

Taking the trolley bus back towards the hotel from the Eastern State Penitentiary yesterday afternoon was good as I passed those famous steps featured in the movie Rocky. Again, though, I found myself thinking so what? So what? Perhaps being alcohol-free for over six months has changed things psychologically. I mean I've never gone so long without a drink in all of my life, so I'm kind of rebooting the system, like switching myself off and on and starting again, erasing the tapes and presenting my new self to the world, that of 'can't be bothered', 'so what?' and so forth. I used to enjoy wandering around a foreign city in a kind of Cabernet haze, thinking my own thoughts, but now I'm in the real world, all the time, and things are pretty normal, I can see through stuff I never saw through in the past and mainly I see through the notion of 'enjoying a night out drinking' – it's not necessary, it doesn't go anywhere or achieve anything and I end up with a furry tongue in the morning and feel it necessary to comment, "good night last night" when it wasn't really, it was just that I thought I ought to say something about the boozy evening if only to discover if I'd said or done anything I shouldn't have. "Yeah, it was a good night until you stripped naked and jogged along Broad Street, throwing a selection of your pants at passers-by."

Part of my Doubletree breakfast...

In fact, why bother to eat and drink out at all? It's just fuel after all. Why spend the money? I'd rather stare at the sea if I'm honest, or go for a long walk. But there are loads of things that simply aren't worth doing, like shopping. I was in Macy's yesterday afternoon looking at watches and the woman said there was a deal on and I'd get so much off if I bought one and even more if I took on a Macy's credit card (or some kind of scheme). And I thought about it (I was never going to do it). To be honest I thought about the pointlessness of it. Why buy a watch? I don't need one. Alright, I no longer have a decent watch (I had to sell my Rolex, sadly) so you could argue that I do need one, but I don't really. The Timex I own does the job. And then there's clothes. Why buy Tommy Hilfiger? Why buy any brand? Who needs to spend the extra money on a Gucci shirt when a plain old shirt will do the same thing: keep you covered up. I wandered around the floors at Macy's looking at all the stuff on hangers and thought, no, it's all crap, all worthless, there's no point in spending the money, it wouldn't provide any pleasure and soon enough the clothes or goods I buy will be yesterday's news and it'll be time to buy something else to keep me amused. I've never ever followed fashion and do my best NEVER to wear anything that advertises the clothes maker. Why should I give them free advertising as I walk along the street? Fine if they pay me, but no, they're not going to, so they can fuck off. That said, I'm wearing a tee-shirt at the moment that says 'Jack Daniels' and this morning the man in the breakfast room took to calling me 'Mister Jack Daniels'. I'll admit it mildly annoyed me, but I shrugged it off with a smile and got on with my life.

The view from room 1712, Hilton Doubletree Philadelphia

The fun has gone out of flying too as I used to enjoy a couple of those little bottles of red wine. In fact, on Saturday just past I flew from London to Philadelphia without a drop of alcohol. It was still the same old same old – eight uncomfortable hours in the air. And now I've got to repeat the process in reverse this evening at 1845hrs – Flight BA66. I get home just before 0700hrs on Saturday morning. I'm not looking forward to it. And to be fair, even with a bottle of wine, it's no fun as I'd end up feeling considerably more weary and tired, so perhaps it's best not to drink.

Room 1712, Hilton Doubletree, Philadelphia, USA

Outside the sun is shining. It's going to be 80 degrees F on Sunday here in Philadelphia and it's already hot out there as I can see the sun filtering through the curtains of my hotel room. It's funny how one gets accustomed to hotel rooms. This place has been 'home' for the past six days, a safe haven from the world outside, and now I'm saying goodbye and heading back to my real home. I've got to check out of here at 1100hrs and then I'll be a kind of homeless nomad until the shuttle takes me to the airport at 1545hrs and my long and laborious flight home. To make matters worse, I have a bad back. I'm not sure what I did to it, but if I sit down for any period of time, I have trouble walking. So seven or eight hours on a plane is going to do me in. Oh, for an upgrade. I need to be able to lie down and then I'll be fine, but sitting in seat 44C as I think I will be this evening, is not going to do me any good.

I'd better sign off and start packing things away. Then I plan to spend most of the rest of the day standing up and not sitting down as sitting down, while not painful, leads to pain when I stand up. I wish I knew how I did this, but I don't, it could be anything, it might have been the flight over, it might have been the way I picked up or put down my suitcase, it might have been anything, but I've got to deal with it and let's put it this way: I can't wait to get home.