We all ended up oversleeping and had to rush out of the door so as not to be late meeting up with Grant's parents, grandmother (Pam!) and (hot) sister, Gemma in Covent Garden. Grant was freaking out the whole ride in. He was like "We can't be late! My dad'll kill us!"
Chris (being a ninja and all) out of the blue decided to climb the giant, bronze lion statue. Evenutally (with much more difficulty) the rest of us managed to climb up there with him, but I can't find the picture of all four us up there (which is a good thing because a picture of the four of us snuggled up riding a lion statue would be so gay that if I posted it on the world wide net there'd be a risk that it could cause a chain reaction and turn the entire world gay).
After we were done recreating that scene (from one of the greatest movies of all time), we walked through St. James Park (which was only noteworthy because Grant identified it as the location where he made out with some cute girl last time he'd been in London) over to Westminster Bridge to check out the view of whatever that over-sized ferris wheel that the Brits make such big deal about is called. (Oh, it's called "The London Eye." Alot of people don't know this, but its full name is actually "The London Eye [Wonder Who Thought This Big Ferris Wheel Would Be Interesting].")
After our failed attempt to find cheap "dressy shoes," (FUCK, London's expensive!), Grant and I decided to head back to Charlene's and relax while Fatty and Chris decided to stay behind, do some more sight seeing and go to Guitar Center and impress the locals by shredding on the guitars there (Too bad you think I'm kidding).
Charlene, PR whiz that she is, totally snowed the doorlady into believing that we were some fancy VIPs from New York that had been flown into town by her company the previous night to attend the AC/DC concert.
Oh, and Fatty and I needed to try to find cheap pairs of "dressy shoes." On our way home from Greece we'd planned on going to Essex to visit where Grant grew up. He wanted to take us out on the town "Essex Style," but apparently they won't let you into any of the "clubs" in Essex if you're not wearing "dressy shoes." (And he explained that our "But we're from New York City!" protests probably wouldn't get us anywhere but the hospital).
So a little after 1am we cut out of the Kingly Club and headed over to the "sushi bar." The place was closed, but the door was open. We walked in an were greated by a Japanese guy who eyed us suspiciously. I took the lead, "We're hear for the, ummm, you know" as I nodded my head knowingly in the direction of the 2nd floor. He played dumb, "I don't know what you're talking about." So I gave him the ol' reassuring "Of course you know what I'm talking about" smile with another vigorous, knowing nod towards upstairs.
He considered us for a few seconds and then turned around and looked toward another guy who'd appeared in the back of the restaurant. The man in the back gave him a single nod, and suddenly, a curtain was whisked back to reveal a stairway. The 2nd floor! We'd been granted access! Here's Grizzle kicking off the karaoke festivities with some Bowie.