Where in the World is Markmen Radtkiego?

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?