Frosties: The Actual Reason We Split from the British Empire

This, ladies and gentlemen, is a box of Frosted Flakes. Pure. Wholesome. Full of sugar.

And this right here is it's evil British twin with a goatee a la mirror Spock. This is also sitting in my tiny kitchen pantry, biding its time. I'm not exactly sure why it needs to have a different name than the American version, but all I know is that my pal Tony the Tiger is selling out, and I don't think that's so grrrrrrrreat. At all.












Now that that's out of the way, let's continue. We arrived at Nido Spitalfields, the big dormitory we're staying in, and met up with the rest of the London group. We were led up to our floor and got to check out our rooms. It's difficult to upload a full photo because my iPhone actually has more square footage than the room, but hey, we'll give it a shot.

Here's the room. Excuse the mess. I'm standing on the bed to get this shot, in case any of you assumed I was really tall.




                                                                   And the view outside my window.







The group then decided it would be an excellent idea to go food shopping. I'll spare you the details because it's food shopping and it's exactly the same in Britain as it is in the United States, except for the Frosties. Which are evil. Stay away Frosties, you delicious, delicious lie, you.

I'm suddenly hungry. More on this later.