Days 68-70: London and York, England

A day of contrasts as I spend my morning in London King's Cross station, watching the cools kids wander past, no doubt on their way to some gig, a house party or the opening of some new exhibition. I then move to York, where things get a lot more, well, lumpen and unattractive.

I sit, amazed, at the train station. Never before have I seen such a sustained procession of misshapen, unfortunate looking people- not to mention some stellar applicants for the next edition of the Big Book of British Smiles. And then there's the accent. My god. To speak like is to immediately lower your IQ by about 40 points. If Stephen Hawking had that accent loaded into his speech box then noone would have listened to a word he had to say. Unless it was to enquire with whether you'd like mushy peas with that, love.

Fortunately, there's one more contrast - the city is a beautiful. A medieval walled city, all cathedral, cobbled lanes, ye olde pubs and coats of arms. I round out my visit in the most quinessentially English fashion- fish and chips with a lovely chardonnay on the banks of the river.