But thanks to the dollar/pound exchange rate even a plain-jane English boxlock double was more - way more - than what I could get by selling my spleen for medical research. Nevertheless, on our last trip over I had this crazy idea I'd visit some London gun shops and find a great deal on a plain workingman's English double. Yeah. My debit card didn't survive the airport and I had to find a co-signer just to buy lunch in Covent Garden. My plan was deader than Cromwell. So, dejected and broke, I resigned myself to life with my little Beretta, despite having traveled to Italy and, quite frankly, wondering how anything - much less a fine gun - could get made in a nation where the preferred means of interpersonal communication involves car horns and fist-waving. But then I saw this story and hope welled up once again.