it is the year 1429, you are Joan of Arc and you have awoken in a cold sweat in your field tent. the barmaid next to you stirs, but your mind is set on one thing — god demands that you seize the city of Tours
[Outside the British Museum]
Me: [chanting] tours, tours-
Everyone in the queue: tours, TOURS-
Security guard: [pounding his ticket scanner] TOURS, TOURS, TOURS!