May 24 - Regent's Park

Preface to my Readers:
I apologize for delay in updating my blog which has so many fans. I have been busy with work, touring England, taking in the local fare and drink, but I have been keeping everything written down in my pocket journal, so when the time comes, as it is now, I will begin updating as much as I can to catch back up to the current date. Also, I am updating on a day that is about 70 degrees and not a cloud in sight. I do so, not because I have become accustomed to seeking dark and damp areas as many Londoners seem to do, but I have made a very close friend of mine, THE Kaleb Jeffries, very upset that I do not update as often as I originally promised. As we all know, Kaleb is somewhat of a literary connoisseur and enjoys reading everything and anything on which he can set his eyes. Because he spends days and nights awaiting new postings on my blog, I have caused him much mental and emotional pain, and for that I am sorry, I will do my best to make my blog current. Kaleb, if you are still reading this, in my defense, I have been doing a lot of drinking. I hope you forgive me.

Sunday, May 24 - Picnic at Regent's Park

On Sunday morning, I met up at Emily, Rich and Craig's flat and we packed up our picnic belongings - Rich's picnic belongings included a very manly backpack that transformed into a posh picnic bag that unfolded to reveal a full set of wine glasses, a bottle of wine, select cheeses and crackers and anything else his boyfriend could have packed for him. I kept to my Westside roots and carried a few sandwiches and fruit in a plastic shopping sack. We met up with Adam and Becky as they walked down the street and we rushed to catch the right bus. Emily was surprisingly fast, even out-sprinting Rich as he clutched to his picnic purse.

On the way to Regent's, we passed through the famous Abbey Road intersection and I had my first glimpse of the Studio over the fence. I made a mental note as I stared in amazement and plans began to come together as to when and how I was going to recreate the famous Abbey Road album crosswalk photo. More of that will come in a few days.

Regent's Park is a 400 acre park similar to Central Park - including its own zoo, a rose garden, small ponds and streams and grass fields that stretch out far beyond the eye can see. Games of soccer, rugby, Frisbee and even volleyball were going all around us. The day was perfect - about 72 degrees, sunny, no clouds in the sky and a slight breeze blowing through the park. We spotted the perfect place to throw down our blankets and began to unload our bags and set up our food and sat back to eat, relax and take in the sites, and beautiful weather. Emily had brought a couple of softball gloves, so everyone took their turns throwing the ball back and forth and by the end of playing throw and catch, Adam's glove hand looked as if he had been sorting through coal for a week.

After a while, Rich and Adam broke out the Rugby ball and decided to have their own fun in teaching me how to throw it. Like a kid wearing two casts on his hands, I managed to fumble around the ball long enough to get the hang of it, even though I still was horrible, they made me feel better about myself by telling me I was "doing it just right," yet I know they were just lying. As I mentioned in my previous post as I described Adam, he finds any time appropriate to take off his shirt in public and after 20 minutes of throwing around the "Footie" (Yes, it does sounds quite gay, but who is going to argue with a rugby player about the semantics of their beloved leather, oblong ball?), Adam decided his body temperature was just about the right level to shed his shirt, forcing Rich and myself to follow suit because we were actually sweating profusely.

We now officially looked like three tools with their shirts off in the park, throwing around the rugby ball, but the sun was out, we were getting our tans on in London which is unheard of, and I was kind of starting to get better at throwing the ball back and forth. The two pros decided then to make me run 'routes' with them which just further showed them why I was not playing rugby any time soon. As awkward as John Water's handwriting, I was just trying to keep up with every toss or route they told me to run. For them, I'm sure it was good fun, but for me, my athletic ego was taking quite a hit. We stayed in the park, laying out and going for a bird-watching walk in the Rose Garden, and then headed back to their flat around 5 to get the grand BBQ fired up again for what turned out to be a huge party of Aussies and Brits and one Yankee.

The flat was packed full of rugby players and teachers with accents from England and Australia, and the BBQ was loaded full of everything from bangers to kebabs to steaks and chicken wings (which were accidentally undercooked and no one would touch after the news spread). After drinking, eating and talking with everyone at the party, telling man stories in the kitchen and chastising Rich for not getting the "good cheese," games of charades broke out as did the PS3 and we all sat around playing Quiz Show, intensely.

By the time the party ended and everyone had left, it was too late to catch the Tube, so Craig and Rich helped me spread out a pad on the couch and I crashed in their living room until the sun woke me up a few hours later. I have been here for three days and I've met and made friends with more people I thought would happen over the course of the entire summer.

Big Ben, Parliament, Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace and Square

I know that this set of pictures is out of sync with my postings, but it was such a beautiful day on Sunday that I wanted to share these with everyone. I tried sending them out through email, but the size of pictures my awesome camera takes, I received about 20 bounce-back emails, so enjoy them from here!!

Chapters 2 & 3 - Adjusting

Chapter 2 – The Flat and Flatmates

May 22

Early my first morning, the entire flat was woken up to shouting and slamming doors at the early hour of 4a. Living in Pikes, I am used to this, but it has been some time since. I currently live with two German girls, Lara and Leone (21), a guy from Spain, Ricardo (27), a guy from Kasikstan, Yulan (24), and another guy from Italy, Luca (26). The three males are studying English for the time here in London at various Universities and Lara and Leone are participating in a marketing internship with two firms here in London – sent by their publishing house in Hamburg to “hone in on their English marketing tactics” (In reality, from what we have gathered over the past couple of weeks, the majority of their work involves licking stamps and carrying files from cube to cube).

The shouting match erupted at 4a due to a lack of communication between Luca and Yulan, who share a large room together. Yulan brought a friend home from the bars and allowed him to sleep on their couch, which anywhere else would be completely acceptable since Yulan pays rent to have access to the couch as well, but apparently not here. Luca woke up and saw an unfamiliar person in his room and ‘panicked' (literally his words the next day). In his panic, he abruptly woke up, began shouting at Yulan, slamming doors, the whole Eric Sallee show. After the whole ruckus finally simmered down (or "PIPED DOWN!!!") to a nice peaceful rest of the evening, the sun had already risen. During the summer months, the sun will rise at around 4:30a and set around 9:45p, and I am sure to make other comments about this ‘phenomenon’ as the summer progresses and my days begin to last longer and longer, hiding my eyes with a pillow.

After I finally went back to sleep, I slept until about noon, still suffering from jetlag and could have definitely put in a couple more hours but was woken up by my landlord to sign the 'rent agreement' (a joke of an Agreement if you ask me) and deliver my wardrobe and desk to my bedroom. As soon as I could get her to leave again, I began organizing my room; setting away my suits and shirts and finding places for all of my clothes to fit neatly for the time being. As of little surprise to my readers, still to this day, my luggage is laying in the middle of my floor. I don’t have as much space as I would like and still have yet to find a place to organize my ties; that is key to daily dressings (as the Reed will agree) and organizing the perfect attire, but I will have to find a new technique in choosing the perfect tie for the day.

I came to the UK without any towels, which simply meant, I had not taken a shower since leaving New York and needed one desperately. Before Lara and her boyfriend, Joey, left for the day, I borrowed a hand towel to make due and washed up. I am still trying to figure out the temperature control on the shower, but maybe by July, I will have the technique perfected. Until that time, I will probably just scald my skin or freeze unless I can figure out the correct turning of the knobs that everyone else has already mastered. (Updated Note 6/11/09: I have finally figured out how to get the perfect temperature)

Once I was refreshed, I got ahold of my contact here in London, Emily. I was put in contact with Emily through a colleague at the House and she has been living here for about two years teaching middle school. Emily had been my biggest help in preparation to coming to London and has been an immense help in adapting to London culture and making new friends and ultimately feeling welcome in a new country. I told her that I needed to get some towels and pillows for cheap (emphasis added). She directed me down to Primark which resembles H&K in New York, Chicago and other major cities. Primark has a lot of Walmart-priced goods for clothing and housewares, but with the Target or Macy's feel, placed in the middle of Times Square during the last taping of Total Request Live with Carson Daly (TRL for my generation). This particular Primark is in the heart of Oxford Circus, which is the equivalent to Fifth Avenue in New York or Michigan Avenue near Macy’s in Chicago. Bustling with tourists and school groups, I made my way to Primark which was even busier, but the inventory and prices were exactly what I had been looking for. I quickly grabbed some towels and pillows and some cheap t-shirts and quickly made my way to the LONG queue (‘queue’ is what everyone calls a standing line here; i.e. ‘How long is the queue to the bathroom?”).

After finally managing my way back through the crowds to the Bond Street Tube Station, I ended up at King’s Cross Station, took the walk through St. Pancras Int’l and was soon home again (Aside: the Underground Tube, much like the aforementioned subway, is pronounced ‘Chube,’ not to be confused with the correct way to pronounce a ‘T’ as Tube. Throughout these blogs, I am hoping to provide some inflection of the English language over here, to give my readers the full effect of what I hear on a daily basis).

By the time I arrived home the time was near 8p and all of my flatmates were staying in that evening to play card games and bond. The evening came around and time flew by as we made fun of one another’s cultures, accents, reminded Yulan many times that he comes from the country made famous by Borat (of whom he hates for that exact reason) and got to know each other and discovered the meaning of life. I still need to tell my two German flatmates that they will be calling John and leaving him a voicemail late one night of German Christmas Carols or ‘My Three-Cornered Hat,’ engrained by the education of Helfrich Park German requirements.

Chapter 3 – The Walkie, Lordie, Emskie, Powelly, Craigy and the Bahbie

May 23

Still suffering from jetlag (and a hangover from the night before does not help the situation), I managed to arise from slumber around 1230 or 1 and caught up with the messages on my phone. Emily had tried to contact me to see if I wanted to meet up with her, flatmate Richard Lord (“Lordie”) and their other close friend Adam Powell (“Powly”) at an Australian bar named The Walkabout aka “The Walkie.” To keep my initiation into British culture in full swing, without hesitation, I jumped into the shower and headed out to the Metro Line to Finchley Road where I met up with the group: Rich, a 6’3” rugby player from Perth, Australia; Adam, a South African who also plays rugby and conveniently finds any time suitable to remove his shirt and “sport his guns,” and shares a striking resemblance to Gordon Ramsey; and Emily, a cheery Midwestern girl from Cincinnati who plays mother to the group of overgrown boys.

After meeting up with the three, we headed to the Walkie, Rich bought a round of Snake Bites (a mix of Strongbow cider, another beer I think and an ‘S’ written with grenadine on the foam head), and we found our seats to watch what became my first ever rugby match – the Heineken Cup. Sitting next to Rich and Adam, I was given the rules and instructions on the game of rugby throughout the match. After hearing good things from Evan, I ordered a Kangaroo burger which of course came with ‘chips’ aka – French fries. Being Emily’s birthday, we hailed ‘cheers’ a few more rounds of Snake Bites and headed off to the local grocery to buy a few steaks for that evening’s low-key bbq. Being somewhat of a glutton for meat, Adam decided to buy a “10 pound steak,” (in value, not weight). In order to chalk up a bill that high for a piece of beef, the cut was fairly weighty and Adam proceeded to make everyone “feel how heavy my meat is…” Inappropriate.

We returned to their flat and had a very manly task ahead of us – assembling the newly-purchased bar-b-que. As the masculine trio we are, we hauled the box into the lift and dragged it into the flat and tore into the disassembled pieces like excited children on Christmas morning (or Evan when he got his play kitchen. Yep, a play kitchen. On the similar note, in my next blog, I will be writing the steps to raising a gay son whereupon first on my list will be buying him a play kitchen when he is 3 years old)

The three of us, with tools in hand began assembling the ‘man grill’ in the living room in about 22 minutes flat and it became a product of beauty; beauty equals bar-b-ques all summer long. We wheeled it down the hall and somehow managed to squeeze inside the lift, rolled it out to the courtyard in the back and sparked up the coals. The three of us stood around, silent, pride emanated as we watched what started in a cardboard box, come together to stand perfectly and as a sturdy iron masterpiece with hot coals burning, cracking and spreading the spirit of summer throughout the backyard. We stood around, drinking a few beers and chatting about the weekend ahead while Rich carefully watched the meat on the grill. As the last flip of the final steak was turned, Craig returned from his Cricket match (just in time to eat, mind you), and we all headed upstairs to be presented with a spread of crackers, gourmet cheeses, red wine, salad and our selection of steaks.

While we ate dinner, Craig popped in the Quantum of Solace DVD, which we continued to watch while our food settled and sank into a coma of relaxation. This was my second full day in London and within my first encounter with Emily, Rich, Adam and Craig, I was greeted into a close-knit friendship from the very beginning, feeling as if I had been friends with this group for much more than just an afternoon. I was soon to find out that this group of friends would take me under their wings immediately, becoming close mates of mine, with whom I talk to on a daily basis and for their amazing friendships, I am very, very grateful.

Arrival in London

A Yankee in England
A Study Abroad Legal Internship Experience in London 2009
- Alex R. Schmitt

Preface
To all of my friends and family reading this blog now, I hope to keep it updated at least every week and at most every couple of days, so check back often. I will try to make an announcement go out to an email listserv each time I make a new posting, but I'm not sure if that is an option on here.

After all that has gone on in the past 6 months, I decided that the best way to find my center and smile again was to make a change in my life. I wanted to make a change in my life that I would never have the chance to experience again and do all of the things I have always wanted to do; something to make my life full of adventure and joy again. I spent a lot of time praying about what that change would entail and finally was pointed in the direction of packing up my suits and ties and heading over the Atlantic to London to take part in a legal internship through Syracuse University School of Law.

I wanted to find a program that I could become completely immersed in the culture of the country, one that would last more than a month. The program I was accepted into, Law in London, is an internship program through Syracuse Law, which after a week introduction course into the British legal system, the 20-something law students from various law schools will be placed in London barrister or solicitor firms, prosecutor offices, or corporate legal counsel offices from June 6th until the middle of July.

Prior to my acceptance into the program, I wrote my letters and applications to the program, spending a lot of time actually thinking about what I wanted to get out of my legal education. Everyone asks the question "What do you want to do as a lawyer?" but very rarely do law students really have that solidified. Don't get my wrong, law students have an 'idea' of what kind of law they want to do, but not many have yet to find their passion or what area in which they actually want to spend their professional career. I decided that my best idea answer to the question, "What do you want to accomplish from the Law in London internship and why?" was that I want to litigate. I want to spend my career convincing a court or panel of judges why my client should win (whether they should or not is not my place to decide - they're paying me to minimize damages in the end). For all of those who are reading this, you know that I am very comfortable speaking in front of people, groups large or small. The Lord gave me a gift of being public in front of people with my ideas and being tenacious about why exactly I am up there. While my mother may say it is somewhat of a curse (and while I can't blame here), it is the gift I was given from birth, might as well use it and hopefully become successful from it.

I feel that all that I have experienced in my life, enjoying the spot light and all-eyes attention is a knack that not a lot of people can appreciate. I performed my full stand-up comedy routine, sporting nothing more than my black 'AC/DC' t-shirt and torn jeans, in front of more than 5,800 students by the ripe age of 21, performed solos my entire life in church, school and even Big Man On Campus my (first) senior year at Purdue, and I have been close to the legal profession all my life (literally - born during my father's 3rd year of law school). With all of those combined, what else should I do than what is natural to me - prepare, memorize, take a deep breath...and perform.

To answer the essay question on the application, I explained that through the English legal system's division of barristers, who are hired by solicitors to argue the cases in court, I want to experience as much litigation as possible during my internship in London. Along with the comparative legal nature, being exposed to as much litigation as I can absorb will hopefully teach me the intricacies of the profession to the fullest extent.

I spent countless weeks trying to find a place to live, familiarizing myself with the information that would be vital during my stay - mainly, how the Underground Tube System works, and pondering what I wanted to see and what I wanted to experience. I will explain the Underground throughout my posts, but it is just like the New York Subway, just haven't seen any rats...yet.

I spent the month prior to my departure from the states arranging all that I could at home and abroad. I saw my friends, family and even those just as dear to me as much as I could before I left. Seeing certain people left me feeling bittersweet about my departure. I knew I would have an amazing time in London, but there were now pages of my life that I was going to have to leave unwritten for the time being. After finally receiving my Student Visa after a second try and numerous calls from Congressman Ellsworth's office to the British Consulate in Chicago, packing everything away or up and watching the Boston Celtics end their chances at another NBA title, I knew I could somehow move on to the next chapter of my life - London in the Summer of 2009.

If there are any questions or comments about my postings, feel free to amend to my latest post or email me at schmitt2@iupui.edu. I hope all my readers find this interesting as I will try to provide vivid details of my time abroad. I miss and love you all.

- Alexander


Chapter One - Arrival
May 19 - 20

I arrived at the Indianapolis International Airport with two luggage cases well over the weight limit ($130 each airport to be exact), my briefcase packed with books and my laptop, a traveling backpack with carry-on toiletries, a change of clothes and my passport, and Kitty dangling from the side arm of my backpack. I may leave Kitty home when I'll be gone for a week or so, but not over two months. Thank you, Mom. The flight out to JFK was 65 Jews and myself. There were 30 full-bearded men and their wives and children, and in no exaggeration whatsoever, speaking Hebrew, jumping in their seats, snapping at the stewardess for attention and shouting for the ENTIRE flight. It was as if I had stumbled onto a Delta flight heading to Israel on the first night of Hanukkah and everyone decided to wash down their latkes with Red Bulls thirty minutes before the flight.

Once I arrived in New York, I took a cab out to Queens and met up with Paul Boren, interrupting him at dinner down the street. He flagged me down and helped me lug the two suitcases up three flights of stairs to his apartment and I joined him and Ravi, who is coincidentally from London, at dinner. A beautiful night out on the sidewalk restaurant with some friends catching up, we then went out to a couple bars to continue catching up and rubbing in Ravi's jet lag.

Ravi and I spent the next day walking around New York City, poked our head in at Times Square to make sure nothing had changed (it hadn't) and then we headed to meet Paul for lunch. After lunch we got a tour of Atari's New York headquarters and a taste of Paul's new work, Ghostbusters - pretty tight. I gave Ravi some directions at where to get off for Washington Park so he could have an 8 year old beat him at a game of chess and I headed back to Paul's apartment to get freshened up for my flight to London that night, fingers crossed tightly that there wasn't another unruly bunch on my 7 hour flight.

After paying the next extra luggage fee for Virgin Airlines, I made my way to my gate, popped a few pills to help me relax on the flight and so it was.

After seeing all of the new sex-selling commercials of scantly-clad Virgin Airline bombshell stewardesses walking through the terminal to their flight, my hopes were set high that the ads were filmed using real employees and NOT actors. After flying for so many years, I think I should go ahead and set aside my teenage fantasy of being on a flight where the seat belt is broken and the only possible working solution is locked inside the head of no other than the hot stewardess. Thanks for nothing, Hollywood.

The flight was peaceful, the meal was hot and I decided that after reading through a chapter of Tucker Max's book I would lean my seat back and begin drooling out of the right corner of my mouth. An aside for a moment - For those of you reading this blog who never thought I would ever understand the meaning or necessity of responsibility (which I would bet my life 'savings' is 99% of those reading this), I, Alexander Reed Schmitt, decided to put on my eye mask and noise-cancelling head phones, Kitty behind my neck and sleep instead of watching the 30 newly-released movies the flight had to offer. Now, it might not seem like that big of a deal to those who have mastered the so-called behaviors of maturity and responsibility at the same time they received their driving license, but sitting at 93 degrees and forcing myself to sleep and ignore an all-nighter feature film festival is a small step for man, but a HUGE step for Alexander.

May 21

We touched down at London Heathrow Airport about thirty minutes ahead of schedule at 7:20a, which was conveniently 2:20a Eastern time at which my biological clock was currently set. Eyes not wanting to open yet, herded through the mass of people on the moving walkway, I somehow made my way to the luggage claim and 'patiently' waited for the time I would get to awkwardly shove past a two-deep line of people and heave my two-65 pound bags out of the carousel (*Author's note* Painstakingly, I will more than likely use the word 'patiently' throughout my postings. Do not let this fool the readers, 'patiently' does not mean to me what it does to the rest of you. To me, 'patiently' only means I have forced myself to ignore time at the moment, constantly checking my watch, shifting my weight back and forth, pick at my fingernails or erroneously check my phone for something to entertain my attention for 10 more seconds at a time).

Once I sprinted forward through the crowd to grab my first bag and then my second and noted to myself to get my newly developed hernia checked out once I became situated, all of my planning had prepared me for my next journey of the first step of my travels - navigating the London Underground. My notes told me to purchase a one-way ticket to Zone 1 and board the Piccadilly Line toward Kings Cross/St. Pancras Station. I made my first purchase in the United Kingdom and like a mother with 8 children in strollers, carrying corresponding diaper bags, I somehow managed to make my way on to the Southbound Piccadilly train. Exhausted, I wanted to collapse, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins would not allow my bloodshot eyes to shut, anxiously waiting to hear the monotone announcement of 'This stop, Kings Cross/St. Pancras."

After an hour tube ride, the beautiful announcement alerted me that my stop was soon approaching, so I began to gather my belongings which was strewn throughout the train car, as an old woman rolled her eyes at me (I assume for having too much luggage? She obviously didn't know who she was rolling her eyes at or the mood he was currently in. Minor mistake, I let her exit before me, secretly hoping she wouldn't "Mind the Gap"). Again, like Lt. Dan struggling make his way to Forest Gump's throat, I somehow managed to nudge my suitcases along, onto the 4 escalators and on to the elevator, out in to St. Pancras Station, to find myself lost, oblivious to the signs which point directions to the nearest street. (*Author's note* As if I needed to preface, during all of the moving and action scenes of my arrival debauchery, I am sweating profusely, which only adds to my lack of clarity and jet lag) Maybe it was because I had only gotten 4 hours of worthless sleep or maybe it was because when I give someone directions to somewhere they HAVE NEVER BEEN BEFORE, I make sure I include all of the pertinent details of where to turn or exit or subtle landmarks and only three details were given to me about how to exit the St. Pancras International Rail Station which houses 15 Eurostar tracks and houses the passing of about 85M commuters through the Station per year. "Go to Midland St, go down to The Chenies and buzz 29" were the instructions given to me about how to meet my landlord "by 9a" that morning (Keep in mind, my flight was SCHEDULED to arrive at 7:50a, which would give me a good hour and ten minutes to meet my landlord at the scheduled time, omitting of course, luggage claim, British Customs, rail ticket lines, an hour train ride in to Kings Cross and a 2 block walk down brick sidewalks while I pull two large suitcases behind me). Needless to say (or did I already?), I didn't meet my landlord until 12:15. I exited the station, asked a couple police officers for directions and although they had no idea what I was referring to, they gave me the best possible instructions - "go back inside and call your landlord..." Doing so, I got her voicemail twice (communication seems to be the lacking feature for someone who owns and manages 5 other properties...) and decided to just go grab some food at a small news stand shop with prepackaged sandwiches and a Gatorade.

After finally receiving a phone call back, I was given the obvious excuse of, "Hey, Alex, I was waiting for you at 9 and had to go back to work since you didn't show," but managed to arrange a place to meet her at noon, outside the British Library (more will be mentioned of this when I visit and write an entire posting, hopefully, about it). In a mocking fashion, she pointed at Kitty, who was once again fastened to my backpack and said, "Oh, thats cute," and I proceeded to drag all of my belongings down 3 blocks of brick sidewalks behind my landlord who was constantly 4 steps ahead of me. We finally made our way in to the gate of my building, up 6 flights on the lift and finally in to my new flat.

While the flat is not as nice as my current apartment in Indy, and how could it be, it has everything I need for the time being - a fully-equipped kitchen, a full bathroom and shower/bath, and my bedroom has a desk, couch, wardrobe, dresser-nightstand and a king-sized bed. As fast as I could talk my way out of the small talk with my landlord, I shut my door, opened the windows, pulled out my package of bed sheets, put on my eye mask, and PASSED OUT.

3 hours later, one of my flatmates, a 21 year old German girl came home just as I was struggling to flush the toilet and walking around barefoot, shirtless, pillow lines all over my face and an eye mask atop my bedhead hairdo. Without sensing any surprise, she first told me how to flush the chain toilet and then introduced herself as Leoni (sp*) and informed me that she was meeting up with another one of our flatmates and her friends at a pub down near Liverpool and asked me if I wanted to come along. Without hesitation, in my first day in London, I threw on a new shirt, a pair of jeans and my Yankees cap and followed her out the door for my first night out on the town.

My first night out in London was exciting because I was wide-eyed to where I was and excited to meet new people. The group we met up with was a group of Germans who all came here for the same type of marketing internship and they all were either together at the same publishing house in Hamburg or went to college together. They welcomed me in just as quickly as I forgot half of their names. I bought a pint and once I sat down at the table, I was appointed as the 'German Ref.' Apparently, the Germans have a game they play while they are here that while they are out or with a group of non-Germans, no one must speak a word of German; if they do, it is a charge of 20 pence per slip-up. In the end I assume the money is pooled and they all spend it one night or something, I really didn't understand, but I was just trying to keep up - I was still feeling my jet lag.

After meeting a handful of more people they knew and a few more pints later, I decided to broaden the party and invited groups of people in the bar to join us in hopes to get to know more people on my first night. I came to London not knowing a single person, the way I like it, and I am going to have the most fun and meet as many people as possible.