Every time I find myself strolling the streets of London, as I did for a few days in early December while in town to attend the annual JancisRobinson.com Christmas dinner, I inevitably end up whistling Sting’s ‘Englishman in New York’. Odd as it may be, I revel in my (admittedly very geeky) inversion of the song’s conceit.
I’m an American in London. I’m an alien, I’m a legal alien. You can hear it in my accent when I talk. I like my toast done...
