I am writing in you tonight in England. I think things are going quite well here! The sunshine was out, and the warmth was here.
I have always considered this an odd place. England is a small island with no appreciable utility in the world marketplace. Everyone here speaks American, but none of the houses are the right height. I visited 10 Downing Street, which surprisingly is not simply the large wooden door you commonly see on the news, but has an actual house inside it. The ample backside of the unit is in such close proximity to the Olympics that you can very nearly see the athletes engaging in sport from here. I also met with the head of the very secret MI6, but I am not supposed to mention that so I am writing this part very quietly.
I took the opportunity this morning to observe to my hosts that their Olympic Games are clearly not as good as my own Olympic Games, which I thought it important to point out to them so that they would be impressed at how knowledgeable I was about the quality of various Olympic Games. Comparing the various qualities of things, whether they be trees, haircuts, or Olympics, is one of my strongest points, and so I attempt to impart this knowledge to others whenever possible.
Touring the city has been pleasant enough. As a gift, my foreign policy advisers have given me an Android device onto which Max Boot has installed various notes about which parts of London could be most easily invaded and converted to Christianity. Reading through it reminds me a bit of my time in France.