Fatboy Slim's Manager, Pear Cider, and Kinky British Newspapers

So today I met Fatboy Slim's manager, Gary Blackburn. Actually I met him yesterday, but I didn't know who he was. When I cautiously wandered into an office full of T-shirt and jeans-clad Englishmen (while I myself was dressed to the nines in my best suit and tie and brand new dress shoes and feeling incredibly awkward and out of place), he was the first person I ran into. Immediately noticing his very puzzled expression (he probably thought I was about to try to fucking  sell him something), I timidly asked him for my immediate boss, Stephen Flannery (who I was meeting for my interview/the incredibly short first day of work that you guys have already read about). When I came back today (less conspicuously dressed) Stephen properly introduced me saying, "Gary this is Steve, our new American intern." I shook his hand as he smiled, "You were the fellow in the suit yesterday, weren't you? I wish I could get everybody around here to dress like that." When he left Stephen said to me, "That's Gary, he's The Boss." Now I knew that I hadn't just shaken the hand of Bruce Springsteen, but it wasn't until about an hour later when I was processing a licensing agreement and royalty statement for a Fatboy Slim song (some record label in Japan or something wanted to use it on a  dancehall compilation album) that it dawned on me who this man probably was. A quick google search when I got home confirmed my suspicions.

A note for my drinking buddies:

As I'm writing this, I'm currently sipping on a tasty glass of pear cider. Probably the best tasting fruit-based alcoholic beverage I've ever encountered. I know back home we have Woodchuck and those other alcoholic apple ciders, but this stuff is the real deal. Its made in Ireland and as far as I can tell they just take pears and brew them like beer. Delicious.

And finally some "deep cultural observations" :

So I was waiting for the tube today and decided to buy a newspaper. I had a bunch of small change in my pocket and wanted something to read on the trip to work. I scanned the front page headlines and then flipped to the first inside page. Much to my amazement, this is what greeted me:

Except the actual picture printed in the paper wasn't nearly as patriotic. Completely taken aback, I stopped the nearest British guy I could find and simply stammered, "Is this normal?" To which he replied in a cheerful cockney accent, "Ov cauwse!  Effery day on page free!" (translation: "Of course! Every day on page three!") Apparently over here everybody starts their day with a nice look at a topless chick in order to brace themselves for the doom-and-gloom that awaits them deeper in the newspaper. What made this even stranger was the article on the page opposite of it:

Which, just my luck, I actually wanted to read. I don't know who it was more awkward for, me or the incredibly proper-looking middle-age English lady sitting next to me the entire train ride to work.