When I was walked down to the train platform in H'forth today I noticed that one of the benches was covered in newspapers and was on fire.  There was some chick there reading a book on an adjacent bench so I asked her, "Why's that on fire?" "There were some lads" was her reply which didn't explain why it was still on fire.  Then the platform started filling up and people and places to sit were running out forcing us to confront this burning bench.  It was very British that people were still ignoring it and each other.  Seeing the cinders fly up in the air towards wooden houses and thatched garden sheds I went over and started smacking at it with my shoe, something that everybody also ignored which made me feel like I was a little bit crazy, but I was glad for because if I didn't want them to find out I'm American.  Just as I put the fire out the train came.  Phew...

"musn't grumble..."

It's interesting the way the UK media is pronouncing names of famous Americans in the anthrax crisis considering all the American media we get over here now.  We have the evening news from all the networks here on BBC news 24, yet Trevor McDonald still pronounces Tom Brokaw (Brock - aw instead of Broke - aw) and Tom Dacshle (Dash- lay).  It's weird to hear.