Upon arrival.

I know I'm not allowed, according to Lupo's rules of engagement, to even update the blog. But I do hope that you don't think I'm wasting valuable sight-seeing time (because all I seriously feel like doing is sleeping). I mean, if I were there, it would be 5 a.m. But I'm here, and it's 11 a.m. So that's very strange. (Apparently, I arrived the one week where Britain's time changes for Daylight Saving Time - but the US doesn't change time for a week so there's a six-hour difference.)

Miss Gibson's off now to edit the Letters Page for the Guardian. She's due back at 7:30.

And I'm in her room now, where she advised me to take a nap.

Thus far, in terms of the sights that I've seen, I've ridden on a double-decker bus. I've ridden on a train. I crossed London Bridge. I saw Tower Bridge in the distance and St. Paul's. On the personal front, Miss Gibson and I have already dished extensively about guys, health, sex, culture, the cool gay areas. And I've given her the Butterfinger candy bars I bought at the Atlanta airport.

Getting to her flat sorta confused me, but I'll get the hang of it.

She's given me the keys to her flat, which I think means that I'm expected to go outside at some point.

It's not like I thought it would be, upon first impressions. This place is really grimy. And the streets are crowded. And the sun isn't out. And it's cold. And there are lots of cute guys with really good hair here. All this both frightens and excites me. Is that weird?

As I said before you, you can write me at the rileymccarthy@yahoo.com account. I'm using Miss Gibson's account to mail my parents, for, if they start nosing around the words Riley McCarthy on a web search, who knows what they'll find.

Anyway, I'm scared and confused and excited and in a strange room in an unfamiliar land with weird money. And everyone's saying I'm going to be cheated thanks to the conversion rate.

This is really happening.