A Little Housecleaning

Just adding a couple of links to the sidebar. It's not often I find two cool London blogs in one day, but thanks to Jaz's writeup on Londonist, I found The Cabbie's Capital, by a black cab driver, and Jane's London, by a girl who likes to take kickass pictures of unusual things and may live somewhere near me, judging by the number of pictures of things on Holloway Road.

London Underground Station or Fictional Fantasy Location?

Congrats! You're about 100% knowledgable of fantasy worlds and/or London Tube stations.

 

I certainly hope you made this score without cheating, because no one likes a cheat. I'll assume you didn't and congratulate both your nerd knowledge and / or your knowledge of London's geography. Show this score to someone so they're proud of you.

London Underground Station or Fictional Fantasy Location?
Take More Quizzes

A little unfair since I made the quiz, but hey, have fun with it!!

Iceland: Cold. Dark. Beautiful.

If you're looking for a good weekend travel break right now, there's probably few better than Iceland. Lastminute.com did me an excellent deal for three nights and a flight, and the exchange rate is extremely favorable while inflation hasn't caught up. Which doesn't exactly make Iceland cheap, but it's no worse than London and in some cases much better.

But enough of the advertising piece. I've always wanted to visit Iceland, which fits very well into my travel MO of 'remote places,' 'islands' and 'cold places.' Iceland fits two and a half of those three - it's not all that remote, only two and half hours from London - but for the price, I couldn't pass it up.



I arrived on Thursday around 4 in the afternoon and found Reykjavik to be more light and less cold than I imagined. The sun set around the same time as it does in London, so I figured the reports about daylight hours might be slightly exagerrated.

What I didn't realize is that it would be about 18 hours until I saw it again.

I checked into the hotel, grabbed my gloves and hat and set out to explore Reykjavik. I had a spotty WiFi connection in the hotel and a vague idea of where the one well-reviewed and inexpensive restaurant WikiTravel recommended: the Sægreifinn (Seabaron), whose Lobster soup is world-famous (it made the New York Times' restaurant guide in 2006) and who serve whale kebabs. I ordered both.

Whale tastes like beef that's been soaked in fish. Fishy beef. Nothing special, except that hey, you're eating whale. The lobster soup was amazing. Icelandic lobsters are smaller than their American cousins, slightly larger than jumbo shrimps, and taste about halfway between the two creatures. Not quite as buttery as a lobster, and not quite as, um, shrimpy as a shrimp. But they're perfect in the soup. So yes, Sægreifinn is highly recommended.

I walked around town for a while in the dark, stopped for a Viking beer - because hey, why wouldn't you - and made my way back for a good night's sleep.

Next morning I realize just how dark things are in Iceland. I woke up around 8.30 and it was still pitch black out. By 9.30, when I was showered and dressed and ready to go, it was a little light - enough to turn everything a strange and beautiful blue color, like you're trapped in a French avant-garde film.

Speaking of the shower, I should mention that hot water in Iceland works a little differently than you might expect. A lot differently. It's all geothermal, and there are hot water mains that carry pure hot water directly from the planet itself into a shower. It comes out smelling like sulfur and can get extremely hot if you're not paying attention. Here's myself, giving you a little demonstration of how it works:



By the time the sun was up, I was walking along the harbor. The economic crisis that made Iceland such an attractive place to travel was obvious only here, where the hulks of half-constructed buildings squatted, some of which might never be finished.

It didn't take long to explore most of Reykjavik; there are only about 180,000 people in the metro area, and the city is not like other European capitals in that it was only a small collection of houses until the 1850s. The national cathedral is little bigger than an English country church. The National Museum though has an amazing exhibit on the colonization of Iceland and its transition from a collection of farms and viking holdings to one of the most modernized, green nations on the planet with the highest standard of living and health care possible. By the time I made it back towards my hotel and the Hallgrímskirkja. The church was covered in scaffolding, like every other famous landmark you want to see, and I opted out of the ride to the top of the tower for the free walk around the church instead.

That evening, it was too cloudy for the Aurora so I turned in reasonably early to rest up for my tour into the countryside. A Nissan Patriot with 44" tires rolled up at 9, we picked up two other Americans and headed out of the city. Here's something interesting about Iceland: once you get outside of Reykjavik, especially if you aren't in another one of the (very small) towns, there is a lot of wide open space. The snow was blowing as hard as I've seen in any midwestern snowstorm, visibility damn near nil, and I asked our guide if we were driving through farmland. "No, this is wasteland," he said. Wide-open plains of volcanic rock and not a hell of a lot else.

We saw Þingvellir National Park, where the planet is literally coming apart at the rift between the North American and European tectonic plates. It was also the location of the first democratically-elected parliament in the world and home of Iceland's largest freshwater lake. Then on to Geysir, the geyser for which all other geysers are named. And Gullfoss, Europe's largest waterfall, a mass of churning glacial water.

Then it was up to the snowfields, where the other two in our group went snowmobiling (not my cup of tea) and the guide let me drive the Patriot around on 4m of packed snow; now I can say I've driven in extreme winter conditions.

Here's what it looked like up there:



That night, it was once again too cloudy to see the Aurora.

And the next morning I was on my way home.

This trip wasn't one about profound cultural experiences, or profound personal experiences; it left me more with a feeling of having been slightly farther off the map then I've been before, and a desire to go even further when I can. Iceland seems like one of the last places you can do that and still be a reasonably comfortable tourist. Much farther and you're into adventure territory. Not that I would have a problem with that.

It was also a hell of a way to kick off what will likely be my last year in London, travel-wise. Liz and I vowed to travel more this year and take full advantage of what we could, and this trip was the beginning of that: good exchange rates, proper timing, and just getting out there and doing it.

Gonna be a great year.

Cold War Modern Revisited

The Beautiful Competition and I headed to the V&A yesterday for the last weekend of the Cold War Modern exhibition, which I visited on my own last year. It was definitely worth seeing again (and if you're in London and reading this, you have about three hours to see it today! Hurry!) Bigger crowds and less room, same great stuff.

I managed to take something else away that I had not previously: a much greater understanding and appreciation for the Cold War from a European perspective. I grew up with the American-side jingoism of course, Big Bad Commies that have to be defeated, better dead than Red, and the shadow the mushroom clouds cast over everything - although to be fair, my parents probably had it ten times worse. By the time I was aware of what was going on, Glasnost and Perestroika and McDonald's in Red Square were turning the USSR into Russia and the American military-industrial complex would soon have to find a new enemy.

But from a European perspective, things were far less black-and-white. To put the Cold War into context, I realized, you have to think about the end of World War 2 and what Europe looked like; when the Americans were done, they came home to smiling wives and cookie-cutter houses in the suburbs. When the Europeans were done, they looked around at a continent largely ravaged by the war; entire cities levelled in some instances, and lives completely disrupted in others. The competition between the USA and the USSR was not so much about defeating bad guys, but about which system of government would prevent such a thing from happening again: the freedom of an open market, or the control of a strong central government? And it was a question various people answered in various ways, sometimes as puppets or pawns of the superpowers, sometimes fighting proxy battles of their own, sometimes willingly but many times not, and sometimes divided by age or class or religion.

It was certainly an eye-opening experience, and one of the things I truly value about my time here; these realizations are much harder if not impossible to come by when you're not living in the places where these things happened.

Septic

Perhaps my proudest day as a Londoner so far was when my countrymen told me what this term means in relationship to Americans.

That's trust, daddy-o!

I <3 The National Portrait Gallery

It's not exactly the most glam museum in London, but the National Portrait Gallery is still one of my favorite places to kill a couple of hours in an afternoon, especially when it's bitter cold outside and you're looking for something to do on the cheap. It's a slog through the tourist crowds to get there (the NPG is the National Gallery's caboose, right between Leicester Square and Trafalgar Square) and the gallery is smallish - you can do the whole thing in the aforementioned couple of hours if you want - but what a gallery.

It's like walking through the Head Museum in Futurama, except that the heads are paintings and they don't talk. OK, it's only remotely similar to the head museum. But for people who enjoy a good romp through history's halls, it's like being with the characters from your favorite book. Richard III? Henry VIII? Charles II? All there. The symbolism in some of the earlier paintings is like a Where's Waldo for history buffs.

The NPG is one of the little unsung heroes of my city. And I do love it.

Home to Go Home

It's amazing how business-efficient you can be when you're seeing friends and family, and that's how I'd describe my first trip back to America since moving over here: efficient. The Beautiful Competition and I were gone thirteen days, the longest we've left our cats alone since we moved, and certainly the longest trip we've taken since coming here.

Almost immediately after arriving in Tulsa I turned around and flew to Denver for a day to see my grandparents, who seem to be hanging in there. It was great just to spend some time with them (especially without any other family members), play cards, tell stories, and so forth; I even heard a couple from my grandfather I hadn't heard before. Then it was on a plane to Kansas City for Angela and John's wedding. They normally hang in Seattle but KC is where Angela's family lives and John's family isn't far, so it made a good central meeting point. Crabby, Roger and Roger's girlfriend were there as well so it was an excellent opportunity to hang out with at least some of the old crew and get to know new crew members. The wedding was perfect; not overwhelming like some weddings can be, and about intimacy and love, as weddings should be.

Then it was a frazzling late-night and early-morning drive back to Tulsa for the holiday fun. We did our usual two Christmases, one on Christmas eve with my family, the other on Christmas day with the Beautiful Competition's much-larger family. I also met my brother's new fiancée and quickly learned she's going to make a great member of the family.

The stay was just about the perfect length; family vacations, especially ones where you have to see everyone with business-efficiency, are never relaxing but this one was exceptionally low-key and almost 100% stress-free.

I expected that this trip home would solidify for me the tentative plan to come back in a year's time, and I did in fact feel like I should be heading 'home' to Seattle rather than 'home' to London. But the strangest thing happened on the cab ride from Paddington to our flat - I realized that London itself was very much becoming like home, where things no longer seem strange and unfamiliar here but are instead very much recognizable for me on many levels. Which is to say that London, oddly enough, feels like a new home.

This is my city as much as it is anyone else's now, I reckon. And if there's anything that 2009 will bring, and any kind of London-related resolution for me, it is this: so far I've had a relationship with London first as a tourist, then as a working resident. Now, the Beautiful Competition and I both agreed that it's time to treat London more as a lover, something we do in fact like and even adore from time to time, temperamental as it can be. As with anything, we'll get out of London what we put into her, and we've put quite a bit in this last year in the way of time and energy - so it's time we started taking a little more out.

Here's to a great 2009 in our home.

Merry Christmas!

I'm currently getting re-acquainted with my home country. Food portions are huge. It's almost agoraphobic how spread out things are. And I'm still not quite used to hearing American accents around me exclusively.

Before a post of real substance - Merry Christmas!

On Umbrellas

London is an umbrella city. Compared to say Seattle, where it also rains a prodigious amount but no one carried an umbrella. In fact, the easiest way to pick out a new Seattleite or a visitor is by their umbrella when it's raining. London has no such pretensions about its foul weather; when things get wet, the umbrellas come out and if you don't have one, you might as well resign yourself to the fact that you're going to look like a drowned rat if you're outside.

In fact, if you have the opportunity to be caught in a sudden rainstorm in London, watch how quickly Londoners can produce their umbrellas - many of them the size of old satellite TV dishes - from their coats, pockets, shoes, or wherever else they might keep them. It's almost like a flash-mob, the sound of dozens or hundreds of umbrellas "shoosh"-ing open around you. And don't you feel dumb for not having one!

Before I moved here, I bought a really nice expensive umbrella. The very first time it was exposed to London rain and wind, the damn thing imploded as though the weight of the rain here was simply too much and it decided suicide was preferable to a lifetime of repelling London wet. I then bought a cheaper but much nicer umbrella from a place in a back street by my office, which I absolutely loved. It was big, automatic, cost me 15 quid and best of all had a hook on the end.

A hook on the end of your umbrella is possibly one of the coolest things you can have. It is infinitely useful. It's clearly a handle so you can adjust your umbrella without moving uncomfortably bending your wrist. Moreover you can use a closed hook-handled umbrella just as if you were carrying your own hook: to open doors, to grab onto railings on the Tube, to reach hard-to-reach objects and pick them up, to slide down clotheslines and to scratch your back. There aren't many ways you wouldn't use the hook!

Alas, I left my awesome hooked umbrella at my office and someone else must have recognized how awesome it was because it is gone. So this morning I ran to Boots and purchased an inexpensive substitute umbrella.

Oops.

The thing is barely bigger than a dinner platter. It's so small that it looks like I mugged a small child and took his umbrella. The aluminium (that's pronounced Al-Lou-Minn-Ee-Umm here) is so thin and sharp that folding it up is like grabbing a bag of razor blades. As I discovered on my way back to my flat, It will either keep my face, my shoulders, or my back dry, or any combination of the two, but not all three at the same time.

And no hook. That should have been my clue.

On Monday I'll spring for another hook-handled umbrella. Until then, I hope it stops raining.

Photo: Shelter by unrelaxeddad on Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

London Bloggers Meetup and Wine Tasting

Last night, myself and about sixty other bloggers attended the London Bloggers Meetup. This one was held at Ember in Farringdon, so it was good to get out of my usual haunts. The gang was all mostly all there, and it was great to catch up with Epicurienne and Jaz and Chris and Rob, who I'm intentionally not linking because I'll link him in a minute.

Rob gave a great talk on wine and social media, and how the wine industry is hundreds of brands all jockeying for position in a very crowded space where often the only differentiators to most consumers are prices - so social media gives wine and wineries the opportunity to give their brands the personality and connection required to set them apart from the rest. Rob runs a blog called The Wine Conversation where he blogs mostly about wine culture, and does so well; it's worth reading for his extremely knowledgeable perspective if nothing else. But hey, there's wine too!

We then had the opportunity to sample a selection of six wines, of which I partook in three. The first was an incredible 2004 Syrah from Cortes de Cima in Portugal. It was rich and flavorful, the kind of wine you want with a nice big multi-course meal or on a Sunday afternoon when it's raining.

More subtle was the Vivanco Viura/Malvasia 2007 Dinastia Vivanco Crianza 2004, everything I expect from a Rioja red: just a little sweet, like you can't quite tell if there are some fruity or even vaguely spicy undertones. Not as heavy as the Syrah but still packs enough robustness to satisfy.

Here's Rob's presentation to us. Sorry I didn't have a better camera for pictures; next time I'll take a good camera along so I won't have to rely on the Blackberry's built-in pinhole.

Wine Conversation 081209

View SlideShare presentation or Upload your own. (tags: media social)

The best part of the evening though was hanging out with friends from outside of the office; I realized on the way home that I've intentionally been avoiding getting too close to people here as friends, and I need to change that. Which means more blogging meet-ups in the future!

Update: Rob writes in the comments that the Rioja was the Dinastia Vivanco Crianza 2004, oops! Fixed above. My fault for not taking better notes.

One Year Later...

Apparently it was yesterday according to this post but I had it in my mind it was today. Oh well.

One year (and one day) ago I was stumbling around Heathrow and then Holborn, shaking off the sleep and adjusting my internal clock to my new home.

And what I said in the linked post still holds true: it's good to be back. Wouldn't have traded this last year for the world, and the coming year will be even better!

A Taste of Home

My friend Angela back in Sunny Seattle sent a birthday package that was stuffed with a few pieces of home as well - that best of all gifts for the ex-pat, the care package. The things inside need not be expensive, just things you can't find here. For example, White Cheddar Cheez-Its. Or Fat Free Hidden Valley Ranch salad dressing. Other great items include Dial soap and real Q-Tips, but I digress.

Angela sent the Cheez-Its, a gift similar to white gold. The Beautiful Competition and I have been enjoying them all afternoon. And yes, that is one of my birthday presents in the middle - a plush zombie complete with removable velcro-attached limbs - and a velcro-attached brain in its hand. Pure awesomeness.

Giving Thanks

On Sunday, Elizabeth and I had our first Thanksgiving in London. A few days late, but who's counting?

Rather than a turkey, we made a chicken.

Rather than friends or family, we ate with our cats who are both friends and family. Of sorts.

Rather than watching football, we watched football crowds from Emirates stadium file past our flat.

It is times like this when I feel the most homesick, that I have to remind myself of the adventure and the opportunity of being here. The good news is that my passport should arrive back soon and I'll be free to travel abroad again, and Elizabeth and I are planning where our adventures will take us next year, and perhaps more importantly what comes next after this adventure.

Going Down to Durham Town

If I had a list of favorite places on Earth, it would look something like this:

• Universal Studios


• Any place where 5 or more of my friends have gathered


• Granville in Fall


• Venice


• Durham

I can't explain why Durham despite a lot of my coworkers asking me 'why the hell Durham?' For most people, it's a stop on the train line between London and Edinburgh, or at the very least the last stop before Newcastle and one of those towns north of York. It's got a cathedral sure, but what else?

I'd be lying if I didn't say that the cathedral was a huge draw for me personally. A massive Norman edifice and the most well-preserved Norman cathedral in the country (in the world, likely) it shows the transition in architecture from Norman / Romanesque - the style that copied what the Romans built - to Early Gothic, the style that replaced it and is most commonly associated with European cathedrals. You can quite literally see the seeds of the transition in the building itself, as the early parts of the cathedral are pure Romanesque while the last parts have the barest beginnings of Early English Gothic architecture, where the techniques that would create the masterpieces of Canterbury, Notre Dame and Rheims were first tested.

Durham is a small college town and certainly has that feel; it's an English market town with its own high street, surrounded by coal country and has suffered with the rest of the North in this regard. But it's still a small college town and therefore has a certain vibrancy about it as well. The weather was perfect on this visit (I've been twice before): crisp without freezing, leaves still on the trees in a rainbow of colors and no rain at all.

I managed to wrangle a private tour of the cathedral which was great, and the reason (excuse) for our visit was to see Yorkshire folk singer Kate Rusby, whose amazing voice and kicking original songs I've kind of fallen in love with since Simon introduced me to her soon after I moved here. Here's a (professionally recorded) video of her live in Leeds:



The best part about Durham was simply getting away so easily and enjoying a great weekend together where we could just walk around in the gorgeous Autumn weather, enjoy a pint and put our cares away for a while. I have a feeling I might have to get back one last time before I go back to America.

Bonus: Kate's cover of The Kinks' Village Green Preservation Society (with stills from Jam and Jerusalem, the show for which she covered it):

Going North

On my way up to one of my favorite cities in the UK for a nice weekend away and a cool concert tomorrow night.

More with pictures later!

Remember, Remember

Yesterday was Remembrance Day in the UK, which we celebrate in America as Veteran's Day. In America it's celebrated as a day where you remember veterans of all wars, and there are parades but no one really pays a lot of attention. Any why is it on November 11th? I admit, I couldn't have told you until yesterday.

Here Remembrance Day is Armistice Day - the day that the Great War (World War I) officially came to an end. America kind of sat that one out until the victor was clear, but it devastated Europe in a completely unprecedented manner. We were taught the dates and details: Archduke Ferdinand, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the Red Baron, trench warfare. But it was always something that happened at a distance - a great distance. Here it was something that happened, well, Here. Right here. Every small town I've been to in the UK, even the tiny ones like Kettlewell, have a Great War memorial for the WWI dead.

They added names on after World War II.

I also noted there is still room for more names on many of the memorials.

Yesterday I saw something I've never seen before. The entire nation observes two minutes of silence at 11 AM on Armistice Day, to mark the exact time when the war ended. I've seen moments of silence before and typically people just kind of carry on with their business. Not here. Our entire office stopped doing what they were doing and we all watched the ceremony on the television, when one of the last three Great War vets in the UK laid a wreath on the memorial. Someone mentioned later he was 112 years old. He looked like he was about to cry. No one in our office said or did anything other than watching the television to see this happen, and our two minutes of silence lasted about five minutes in total.

It was sobering to see how deeply the Great War still affects people here. As the 'first modern war' it could (arguably) be said that it had the greatest impact on the 20th century because of the new technologies employed and the sheer mechanical savagery of killing others, and not only did it have a profound impact on European political structures but also on the attitudes of the people here. When people accuse the French of being dirty peaceniks, maybe the reason for that is that they have seen more than their fair share of some of the worst slaughter ever visited on other human beings.

It's certainly a stark contrast to America, that's for sure.

I'm still not 100% certain what yesterday meant to me, but it was one of those singular experiences that I will remember for a long time to come - which, I suppose, is the point.

Also, I have to point out Diamond Geezer's side-by-side poem from yesterday - it's quietly profound in its own right.

Happy Birthday to Meeeee....

Here's one to add to the 'achievements unlocked whilst in London' file: last weekend I turned 30 years young. Therefore, everything I blog after that is suspect and cannot be trusted. Young people: do not trust me!

All ageing jokes aside, I had a most excellent birthday. The Beautiful Competition booked a surprise trip outside of the Big Smoke, although not that far: just into Kent, a small town called Whitstable, renowned for its seafood and laid-back attitude. We spent a couple of nights and did exactly nothing except for walking along the coast, eating scallops (oysters are not my thing) and enjoying local cheeses and ciders. The perfect, low-key way to get a year older.

I have to say that the people in Whitstable are probably the nicest I've found in the entire country (so far.) I'm not sure if it's because the town is off the normal tourist trail or what, but almost everyone we spoke to wanted to know where we were from, if we were backpacking, what we thought of the town, and seemed genuinely interested in chatting rather than the normal, tired faux-niceness you get in a lot of towns that make their living off of tourism. It was a refreshing change from some of the other places we've been. Maybe it was nothing more than we're acclimating a bit more and it's just natural to be here now, I don't know.

I want to call out especially the very nice family that ran The Cheese Box, who not only clearly love their job of finding and selling locally-sourced cheeses (the best I had was called 'Rachael's Goat,' so called because it came from - yes - Rachael's Goat) but let us linger around the shop, sampling this and that and recommending more deliciousness.

I cannot say where I procured it (I was, quite literally, sworn to secrecy by the person who gave me the bottle), but I did have some extremely good local farmhouse cider as well called 'Appley Ever After.' 'A Kent cider, barely,' I was told, although because of the location of the brewer and not the quality of the cider. I'm not a huge cider fan, but this stuff was amazing. Unfiltered and cloudy like a quality farmhouse cider, strong enough to knock out a rhino in large enough doses, and the absolute perfect balance of sweetness and tartness. Google doesn't turn up any websites for it online, but if you are down that way and happen to see some stocked somewhere, try it.

All of the pictures from Whitstable are on my Flickr stream.

Oh, and I get to go back to Yorkshire in a couple of weeks for a concert - and to visit one of my favorite small towns in the UK. Durham!

How We Do It In America

My absentee ballot is due to be delivered to my office today so I can fill it out and Fed Ex it back to America. My coworkers wanted to know how we vote in America - online? Tick a box? Punch out a hole?

I told them we take our guns and shoot holes in the boxes next to the candidate we want to indicate our support for that candidate.

I mean, duh.

Foxy!

Sometimes strange things happen in London. On my way home, I was looking out the window and noticed a large cat pacing the bus, which is unusual in and of itself because cats don't normally run down the sidewalk past London double-deckers. A careful look revealed it wasn't a cat at all, but a fox! In the middle of the city! In Islington!

I tried to whip out the Flip but by the time I got it out, the bus had gone ahead. Then fate intervened: the bus broke down and they ordered us off. The fox was down a side street watching.

So I chased him a bit with the Flip and got this. He doesn't really show up until the end, and you can see him run from behind the car to the yard. For some reason I sound like a girl in half of this video, I think the sound recording was a little screwy.

Here he is, the London fox!



Update: Apparently foxes are common in London, kind of like raccoons in the US. Shows I'm still a bit of an American Newbie. Thanks to autolycus in the comments section (and my bemused coworkers) for pointing this out.

ARE YOU A-READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL?

No, not that European 'football' where the guys run all over the field kicking at a round white-and-black round ball before someone yells GOALLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!! GOALGOALGOALGOAL!!!! I'm talking good old-fashioned beer-swilling, cheerleader-high-kicking, helmet-smashing, butt slapping (hey, I don't make this up), marching-band-playing, Friday night lights shining AMERICAN FOOTBALL. HOO-RAH!

Which really means absolutely nothing to me except that on the way back from Whitstable today (post forthcoming) I saw a gaggle of lads on the train wearing 49ers and Bills jerseys and hats, and there were similarly-clad lads all over London, in train stations, on the buses and on the streets. I saw the Pats, the Jets, the Seahawks (!) and the Bears (WTF?) but no one was sporting a Chargers or a Saints jersey that I could see - which is funny since those are the teams playing at Wembley in about an hour and 50 minutes in the second NFL UK game.

Honestly, A for effort all around: it seems that NFL fever has firmly swept London regardless of the various team jerseys. In fact, I'm not sure it matters which teams are playing (the 'Aint's? Do they even count as a team?) but there is a bit of excitement in the air as Wembley Stadium is turned into a gridiron.

It's funny that the NFL UK notw has a website and logo, because I have a feeling this is here to stay. What's next - London's own NFL team?

Hey, that might be kind of cool...