Traffic swarms around Big Ben, as viewed from atop a double-decker tour bus late on a sunny London day.

Martini madness: OK. So I'm in London. And I figure these people know their gin.

After all, they even have those guys at the Tower of London named after a type of gin, Beefeaters, right? So I 'm determined to get a martini. My first attempt is in Picadilly Tandori, and Indian place. I order a Saphire martini, with Olives. I get gin that tastes like it came out of a plastic bottle. It's mixed with soda. On the rocks. With a twist of lemon. Fortunately, the food was awesome. Undaunted, I try again the next night. This time at an Italian place, Trattoria Italiana Biagio, right next to Charing Cross station. I order my ususal: Saphire gin with olive, dirty. I get something that I suspect was a glass of sweet vermouth with a splash of gin in it. From here on, I'm going with ale and bitter ...

King Henry VIII's combat armor on display at the Royal Armouries at the Tower of London.

Nevermind: I'm standing on the platform of the train station in Newport, South Wales. It's a miserable, rainy day. We were supposed to go mountain biking again this morning but bagged because the weather's so bad. So I'm waiting for my train to London ... when I look up and see Kurt Cobain scowling at me from a poster promoting Nirvana's From the Muddy Banks of the Wishkah. The rain. The gloom. No wonder he blew his brains out ...

Football hooligan? I have dinner at the hotel (the Regent Palace off Picadilly Circus) my first night in London, and I'm surprised to see the Steelers playing the Oilers on TV while I eat. Afterward, I walk over the the bar, order a pint of Brains bitter and strike up a conversation with Matthew, who lives in North Dublin but is in London for a funeral. I buy him a Canadian Ale (Canada Dry) and talk to him about American football, which he claims is popular in Ireland. He's a good guy, and he claims a brush with greatness: "I know the family of that one from U2," he says. "I'm not impressed by him, and I told his mum that." Hmm. I order another pint and watch the Steelers cough up the ball in a losing effort ...

Tubular: The London subways where phenomenal. Easy to navigate, clean and convenient. But I was amused by the jargon associated with them. I was constantly being advised to "mind the gap" (watch for the space between the platform and the train) and take the Way Out (exit) to the street.