It was a humid Sunday afternoon, and the lovely folks at Brunswick's Pope Joan set us up in their courtyard. In return, some lucky customers received an impromptu acoustic song from a good looking Englishman -- and our guest of honour. I sat back and sipped on my pink grapefruit juice feeling decidedly untalented as he strummed his guitar, sang with that beautifully raspy voice, and then topped the whole thing off with a cheeky dart. Very few men can make smoking look sexy, but I think he pulled it off. Am I allowed to even say that?

I take it back. Don't smoke, kids.

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