Go into a branch of RBS and wave £50 notes at passers by through the windows.
If you're still alive after that, go down to Selfridges on Oxford Street and have simulated sex with a manikin in the window, stopping occasionally to smile for tourists' cameras.
Or you could go to Buckhingham Palace, wait for the changing of the guard and lie down in front of the procession of horses, refusing to get up until they accept you as the true successor to the British throne.
^I'm English/Scottish with an pinch of German thrown in there way back. If I hadn't put on 40 pounds since getting married two years ago I might've given it a shot.
Menty's idea seems most feasible, as that place is on the intinerary. He may have to settle for a mylar sheet with a mustache on it held up in front of the blue whale, as I'm in no hurry to get arrested/fired. Hey...at least I won't photoshop it.
One thing I can promise you: If I spot Gagh in a pub (or anywhere else) he is SO getting his picture taken. I'll have my wife post them here posthumously.
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