We always wished we had spent more time back in 2010 when we drove through Atlantic City. We were somewhat unimpressed back then and it was not until later, when we saw the series Boardwalk Empire, that we realised that we might have sold the place short.

However, the series features Atlantic City at its peak, in the post-First World War era of Prohibition and its repeal. Atlantic City became fashionable again after the last war, but it is on the way down nowadays – a long way from the time when it was the inspiration for the Monopoly board game. Had we popped in to the Boardwalk in 2010, we would not have had to bother to go back in 2015. We only chose to go there this time as a meeting point. It constituted the southern-most tip of our tour and enabled our friends, Pete and Marilyn, to meet us, having journeyed up from North Carolina. We had booked three nights at a hotel close to the Boardwalk but we only just stretched our visit to one night.

I know a seaside resort never looks attractive with the rain lashing down and perhaps a few parasols and people walking along the esplanade would have brightened it up, but frankly we could not imagine it.

We arrived after a breakfast in Friendlys and discovered the hotel had installed a new computer system that rendered it difficult to find our bookings. Once that was sorted, we unpacked briefly and then, suitably dressed, we headed out for the Boardwalk. It was less than appealing. Pete and Marilyn fancied lunch and, while I had cooked a waffle at the hotel and eaten a cooked breakfast at Friendlys, I decided to go with the flow, particularly after they had spotted an Indian restaurant in the Trump Taj Mahal. This is a great, cavernous place offering you every possibility to gamble away your money, which frankly was not even a temptation. It was so easy to resist.

Donald Trump has sold the building, perhaps getting wind of the fact the City is heading for another slump or possibly because the wind is too strong for him to keep his ridiculous hairpiece in place.

After a good, if expensive Indian meal, Pete and Marilyn caught a taxi back to the hotel, while we braved the rain and the wind and undertook some retail therapy. Ellie’s arthritis of spine and pelvis still means that she can walk a fair distance but pays for it the next day. However, the prospect of retail therapy along the Front appeared to work like an overdose of painkillers. The season was coming to a close and there were bargains to be had, she assured me.

As I was wearing an anorak and shorts, Pete found me easy to spot from the window as we headed back to the hotel under an umbrella. I pointed out the outfit was effective as I just had to dry my legs and did not have wet clothes to worry about.

We had a summit conference in which we agreed Atlantic City did not really have enough to sustain us for a day, let alone three. None of us have the slightest interest in gambling and the show business personalities on offer at local venues, did not appeal. Ironically there was a large sign when we came into Atlantic City, informing us Dion was the star but his visit was scheduled a month later. For a moment Marilyn and I were quite excited at the prospect of seeing a star whose records I still buy.

There was good news, however, for with the apparent and imminent arrival of Hurricane Joaquin, the governor of New Jersey had declared a state of emergency. This was possibly a case of hedging his bets because the last time a hurricane had hit New Jersey, a lot of damage occurred.

Marilyn pointed out that, despite it being slightly illogical, while the US weather forecasters were predicting Joaquin would hit land just below Atlantic City, the British had predicted it would turn right and head out into the Atlantic.

“You would think with all our state of the art inventions, we could get it right, but we tend to follow you Brits on this,” Marilyn informed us.

The Brits were right but, long before that became generally accepted, we used the state of emergency to cancel the bookings for the second and third nights. The hotel computer was still playing up because the rebate to my account meant the hotel had taken just 50 dollars for the one double room for one night, instead of the original 120 dollars.

It is an ill wind, so they say.

So we left Atlantic City and headed back to Days Inn, in Cherry Tree just over the river from Philadelphia and duly breakfasted at Friendlys, with servers Jess and Olympia knowing our orders off by heart.

We called in at one diner that specialised in craft beers and enjoyed the early evening Saturday night disco, which involved some old timers jiving and dancing to Northern Soul. Or as Ellie reminded me, we watched people of our age jiving and dancing. It was a delight to watch as they danced with great enthusiasm to sounds resonant of the late 1950s and 1960s.

We left when they changed the deejay and rap music assailed our ears as the younger element took the floor.

The last afternoon in Philly we spent at Popes, enjoying a selection of ales and wondering where they get the names such as Black Butte, Brown Shugga and Russian Rover Blind Pig, while catching up on the last three years since we had seen each other.

With the confidence of people believing we will live forever, we made arrangements to meet up again, probably in 2017 but it could be next summer in Spain. There is something very reassuring about old friends and how you just pick up where you left off. The future plans have to be loose but just for good luck and to maintain the confident aura, I decided to have a beer from the Happy Accident brewery stable: Serendipity.