I've had a splendid weekend in London.
Flew from Glasgow Friday afternoon, and spent the night at the Thistle Barbican, (fifteeen minutes walk from the Barbican, and I'm not sure about the thistle). It was as if the entire Euro-zone had decamped there. I noticed coaches, so clearly some enterprising tour operator(s) have cottoned on to the weak pound as an attraction to a do-your-xmas-shopping-in-oxford-street "holiday" to the French, Italian, Spanish and Irish. Only the last of that list were going for the Full English, I noticed. Perhaps that's why Britons distrust most Europeans: they actually prefer a "continental breakfast".
Saturday, I was on an exam-writing training course. I won't say who my newest quasi-employer is, but their head quarters are a simultaneous stone's throw from the Old Bailey, Smithfield and St Bartholomew's Hospital. And there's a lane nearby called Cock Lane there, which once sited a knocking-shop, I was told. Anyway, I'll call them Old and Important, or O&I for short. It was a genuinely useful course.
Saturday evening I met Beebo Wallace, visiting from America, together with Zombizi, Ososment, 01101001 01100001 01101110, and Shhexy, (who had organized the whole thing). The first time I've spent a whole evening in a pub since... Don't know. It was great. Despite the long-time c-word label, Beebo's a really nice bloke.