To Borders last night, followed by a writerly jam session at "The Fox and Hound English Pub and Grille" -- which is in a strip mall no less. It was a cool place, with nice colors (deep reds and greens) and many pool tables and a quiet clientele; it just shouldn't be called an "English pub and grille." We thought we'd get a chance to make fun of it, but it turned out to be a good place for Writerly Jam Sessions, so we just made fun of the fact that it was completely misnamed. Oh, how I miss the White Lion. (Buffy [to Willow, whining]: "But the peas will be all mushy!" Giles [turning around, winsomely]: "I like mushy peas." Baaa haa ha!) Erm, scuse me.

Also have been brushing up on my British slang for the heck of it. And now I feel a mini-rant coming on which hardly deserves a bold caption, but I will give it one anyway:

On Being an Anglophile: Or, Prep for Dealing With This Blog

Knackered, bollocks, Eddie Izzard, the Lake District, John Keats, Jane Austen, Monty Python, Oxbridge, Lord Peter Wimsey, C.S. Lewis, Ceylon Blend, "coming in on the top of a bus", Gladstone, Balfour, Disraeli, Churchill, Boadicea, Stonehenge (one of the biggest henges in the world), loo jokes, Punch, 221B Baker Street, T.S. Eliot (the wannabe), Hugh Laurie, The Man Who Was Thursday, Alice in Wonderland, the Pre-Raphaelites, The Book of Common Prayer, the RAF and the Battle of Britain, Francis Crawford of Lymond, Jamie Oliver, and let us not forget Tony Head, not that I would.

There. You've been prepped.