Bloody Brilliant Blog, Part II

Kyle Terada/US Presswire

Here's Gabby, but imagine Ms. Foudy leeeeaping into the Tube!

LONDON -- It is time for more of my observations from the Olympics in Part II of My Self-Professed Bloody Brilliant Blog (and you know you want to read Part I again!):

6. Tube-catching

Catching Underground trains should be an Olympic sport because I may come out of retirement for this one. I have mastered the Mind The Gap jump, Gabby Douglas-style, fearlessly floating between two rapidly closing Tube doors. Full disclosure: I have lost items of clothing in the process of getting devoured by those vicious doors), but half-naked Tube riding is all the rage.

7. Camera shy versus jogging shy

I've discovered that Britons will dance in front of the camera, use silly American accents in front of the camera and willingly assist you with anything you need, but will not say hello while jogging. If you say hello, a blank, completely perplexed look will ensue. Surely, they are thinking, "Why in the world is that bloody friendly American saying good morning to me?" I actually started a tally on my run Saturday: I went 2.5-for-20 -- out of 20 attempts, I received two angry hellos and one grunt (the half point).

8. Um, hello ...

Olympic tickets are about as hard to come by here as a good doughnut. Both of which I am not happy about.

9. Pin me?!

I've tried desperately to get into this whole pin-trading rage at the Olympics. I never quite got it as an Olympian, but now, I initiated a pin-trade competition with my friend Summer Sanders (a four-time Olympic medalist in swimming and self-professed pin-head) to see if I could suddenly be converted. I'm happy to report I am not buying a foam-covered fish tackle box for my pins (Summer actually admitted she has one, bless her), nor did the addiction spread to my powder-pink pin vest (thankfully). Sorry, Summer (and all the other pin addicts out there).

10. The search continues ...

I am also sad to report that my story on the Perfect Pub seems to be taking longer than expected. So, with journalistic pride, I courageously march on, making sure no pub is left unturned in this hard-hitting journalistic masterpiece.

It is during these moments that I thank my parents for convincing me not to become a doctor.

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