London Calling

So...I made it to not-so-sunny London and am running around with my friend Tessa working off jet lag and a smidge bit of a lingering hangover. I'm pretty sure port is not designed to be consumed by the bottle, but eh....The flight was a bit brutal, but softened by many, many tiny bottles of airplane wine of questionable quality. A bit groggy, I managed to locate my lost luggage, master the intricacies of international calling, navigate the tube and lug my stupidly heavy backpack around. I stopped at Tessa's work, at a small music publishing, company, then hung out at a pub, called the Prince Albert -----(something I cant' recall) until she got off. We then took off to her flat, in the Finsbury park area, which is knee deep in arsenal country for you football buffs. After a whole night of chatting, video games and heavy port consumption we manage to get up at 4 pm or so for a proper English breakfast. While I think all we accomplished was bathing and eating so far today, we are about to head off to the local pub for a pint, then on to a show where a friend of Tessa's s punk band is playing. After that it will be on to the indie disco (?) which I am ever so curious about. I am already having a smashing time, but will someone explain why the British think that a plate of beans with your breakfast is a clever idea after a night of drinking?

(Previously posted in an earlier incarnation on myspace @ 19:30 09/02/2006)