So I finally tore myself out of bed to look around this London place I've somehow found myself in.

Despite my notoriously bad sense of direction I just headed out, starting towards the station so I'd have some kind of reference point. And OH I found a sign for a swing dance! Except it's on Tuesday nights and today is definitely Wednesday! So, damn!

I wandered and saw a bunch of restaurants but not so much anywhere to stop in. And then I saw the British Library. O-kay! Stopped in, perused their printing display and learned stuff about printing presses. There was a large Hans Christian Andersen display. I don't know if we were allowed to take pictures, but I took one anyway. And oh dear. I left my card reader at home. So, um, no pictures for you guys right now. Dang.

The British Library had a section with a bunch of audio samples. I was standing in front of a small Beatles display, listening to their 1963 Christmas album (for their fan club subscribers) when two gentlemen -- I think they were on the reconstruction crew for King's Cross -- stopped to look. We started chatting about Beatles, comparable bands, New Orleans and the state of crime in other cities. They suggested places to go, the only one I remembered being Ireland. I detected a hint of an Irish accent when the younger, quieter gentleman suggested it.

I stopped by a quick food shop on the way home, being that I was really hungry. I bought a loaf of french bread. Would've gotten something smaller, but I couldn't see any bags to put the rolls in, and did I just put it in my hand? Juggle them up to the register? Sounded like too much work, so I just grabbed the pre-bagged loaf and a coke.

And now it's 40 minutes until John gets here. He'll show me around his place and I imagine there might be some food happening. And I'm sleepy. Maybe I'll just lie down for a little...