So. I made it alive and well to the UK, with no ill effects other than a sore throat (and even that was only because I spent the whole flight chatting with the woman sitting next to me). I'm still not quite on British time, but I don't feel too groggy, either.
Highlight of The Times the day I arrived: a study shows that one in five Scottish pubs serves the local delicacy known as the deep-fried battered Mars bar (and that "the Mediterranean diet" has made it to Scotland in the form of deep-fried pizza). Other studies demonstrate that Scotland has one of the highest incidences of strokes and heart disease – and, I believe, the worst teeth – in the developed world. Can't imagine why.