Wan­dered into some new neigh­bor­hoods today, away from the com­mer­cial cen­ter that the blocks around Trafal­gar Square seem to be. Was cor­nered by a middle-aged drunk man in The Sal­is­bury (“Sports-free since 1892”) last night, who lec­tured me about the Red Sox, Barry Bonds, and George Bush: “We don’t think like you, and we never will think like you.” He asked me to watch his beer while he went “for a pee,” and I left.

Spend­ing the cur­rency is oddly sat­is­fy­ing. The beer isn’t any bet­ter than in the US. It’s been rain­ing lightly for 48 hours. The Under­ground is tidy and effi­cient. The sig­nage is strangely con­ver­sa­tional: “Way Out”; “Pedes­tri­ans cross when the green man is show­ing”; “Look Left / Look Right.”

The Pizza Huts serve cap­puc­cino. A decaf cof­fee is a “decaf Amer­i­cano.” The bagels aren’t bad.