Werewolves of London

I'm taking off for London soon. Real soon. I don't want to tell you exactly when because I don't want the international brigade of internet thieves and perverts to rush to my empty house.

So I've been brushing up on my English English, thanks to the many resources available to you at your local library. I don't want to embarass anyone over there with my crude American speech, so I took home some CDs to teach me to speak good.


"Lesson One. Are you 'avin' a laff?"

"Are you havin' a laff?"

"Fancy a shag, guv'ner?"

"Fancy a shag, governor? Wait. What?"

"Wot's all this, now?"

"What's all...hey, that's what the stuffy policemen say, right? When am I going to have to use that?"

"The telly is off in the lift and me loo is flooded."

"OK, now you're just making stuff up."


Anyway, I'm getting pretty excited. I figure I'll have to eat at least one funny sounding dish (leaning towards Spotted Dick, obviously), hit a bunch of museums and culture and what-not, have a whole pub turn quiet and inhospitable when we walk in like in those old Hammer movies (or American Werewolf in London, take your pick) and generally packing a whole lot into less than a week.

I know that college students and annoying travel people always tell you to pretend to be Canadian, but I figure that ain't gonna fool anyone, especially since this is the only shirt that I remembered to pack.