Jet lag is Satan’s gift to travelers. One minute I’m wide awake and ready to tear London apart, the next I’m waking up 6 hours later over the covers in full suit wondering what city I’m in.

For some reason, I went to a terrible facsimile of Tex-Mex and Texas BBQ called The Texas Embassy near Trafalgar Square. Not sure what I expected and a review is unnecessary. Wretched dreck. However, the upstairs bar was filled to the brim with young Londoners (or maybe more idiot travelers), including the cutest girl I’ve seen in a long while.

Post-rubber enchilada, I returned to the hotel and again fell asleep in my day outfit.