Where in the World is Markmen Radtkiego?

To Paris in a few hours, aboard the Eurostar. I’m too hung-over to deal with the French. Wish me luck.

Walked from Gosvenor Sq to my hostel. The hostel’s near Paddington Circus. Very nice place (the internet area’s not nearly as sketchy as the place I was last time; no fleas). Spent the evening with a friend of Lindsay’s named Amy. Nice girl, but a little blonde for my type (Har!). Either way, tonight was spent at a pub near the hostel; I learned the rules of cricket from a very, very drunk local named Chris.

Tomorrow, it’s on to Paris on the Eurostar. It’s my first time on a European train, and I hope that I’m not taken advantage of (a la EuroTrip). I’m pretty sure that a day or two is all I can handle in Paris.

Inspired by The Who, I’m now going mobile. In the event of an emergency (i.e., a surprise release of Tool’s new album), call Bill, Michelle or my parents. They’ll know how to get in touch with me. If you don’t know how to get in touch with any of those people, then you’re probably not that important.

Three days since I’ve arrived in London, and I think I’ve done everything I wanted to do (except, of course, find a sugar-princess). Many of my meals have been in pubs, and I’ve got to say, I haven’t been disappointed with British food. Despite it’s reputation as being bland, I’ve found it more than acceptable. Of course, London is expensive as all hell; if I think about how much I’m paying for a typical meal (7-8 pounds, plus a pint, plus service), it seems pretty rediculous. I ended up paying the equivalent of about $25 USD for a burger, two beers and some chips (the French kind), but it was one of the tastiest burgers I’ve ever had. More important, I finally understand why Britons put salt and vinegar on their chips — it’s damned tasty.

Alright, enough about food.

Besides eating, I did a double-decker bus tour: Tower of London (“You call that a diamond?”), Tower Bridge (aka, “London Bridge,” you ignorant bloke), Changing of the Guard (damn exciting — if I wanted to see people standing around and passing off keys I could go to Herb Chambers) and a bunch of Circuses. Today, I walked from my hotel (Grosvenor Square, right next to the US embassy, thanks Michelle!) down Oxford Street and SoHo to the British Museum. I wasn’t prepared for such an impressive sight; some day when I’m a monarch I hope to build half as huge a monument to myself. Saw the Rosetta Stone (overheard from one brilliant American who apparently didn’t finish grade school: “Which part was in English?”). Took tea in SoHo (and a few pints). Now I’m off to meet a friend from high school; she answered the phone with a British accent, but then switched back to American when I told her who it was.

Is it strange that my inner monologue (dialogue?) is beginning to have a British accent?