A tired eye's look at London

Hello!
I am currently sitting in a red leather chair in the lobby of Imperial college, surrounded by exactly 30 people who are also sitting red leather couches or standing behind them or working at the counter, helping foreigners find their way in life. Still 0-0. We watch the first half at a small hole-in-the-wall sort of place where I got spinach and garlic cheese crepe and a still water. We just had a collective gasp and sigh of disappointment filling the corners of the room. Anyways, the little restaurant was fun. I asked the bus boy who he was rooting for, and he laughed and proclaimed, "Spain, of course!" He had some trouble with his English, so perhaps I had just asked a Spaniard who he was cheering for.
We then got some delicious ice cream during half time. This man also had some trouble with English and triple, quadruple, then sextuple repeated what my order was. A vanilla cone.
Another more exasperated breathing in and out. Now some squeaks of anguish. Don't worry, I'm paying attention to the game, too, not just the gasps. But I just find the gasps more interesting and worth putting in a blog. You already watched the game I'm sure.
The flight over here was wonderful. First, an Irish man sat next to me, but his wife was in the seat behind. I offered my seat to her. I ended up sitting next to Anna, a Swede who rows, works in a medical supply thing five minutes from the west coast in Ireland, and owns a horse she affectionately calls "Horsie." I thus showed her my Bunny who had been hiding in the backpack. We talked the entire plane ride, asking each other about each other's food, culture, what we do for fun, landscape, weather, suburbs, vacation, sun time, family, Christmas, number of horses in Texas, number of Texans in the UK, that sort of thing. Apparently, Swedes eat veggies and salad, but Irish just drink for fun.
I'm moving to a louder pub.