The pigeon’s feeling a bit under the weather, so I’m sending this year’s letter over that new-fangled internet thingy I wrote to you about last time.
We're all doing fine. How about you? Is the new draw-bridge finished? Sorry to hear about the gardener’s little accident. In hindsight, piranhas in the moat may not have been the best idea. Who knew they could jump so high? Still, he already has four children, and as you say, if he hadn’t been drinking on the job, he wouldn’t have needed the toilet in the first place.
You know I love it here in the USA, but these Americans are a peculiar breed. No matter how many times I yell at them, they do keep driving on the wrong side of the road. In the end, I've decided it's easier all around if I just do the same – when in Rome, and all that.
They continue to struggle with the language. The other day, we had some workmen in the house. As you know, Senior Management doesn’t allow smoking inside, so I told them, ‘If you’re desperate for a fag, let me know. I’ll take you out into the yard.’
Honestly, they looked at me like I was from another planet. Don’t these people understand the Queen’s English?
We expect to see all manner of fireworks over the weekend, even though Bonfire night’s not for another four months. Remember you asked me why they always celebrate this time of year, and I said it was to commemorate some film made by that Will Smith chap? Seems I was mistaken. Apparently, it has something to do with that recent skirmish back in the 1700s, the one we let them win.
It’s strange how different cultures deal with sadness. Tomorrow night, all across America, perfectly sane people will be out in their back yards, throwing teabags into swimming pools, singing, cheering, and enjoying the aforementioned fireworks.
Where are the long faces? Where are the flags at half mast? Can you believe in five years here, I haven’t seen a single black armband?
For Heaven’s sake, tomorrow marks the anniversary of the day these people gave up the chance to be British! The way they carry on, you'd think they were happy about it.
Anyway, Mummsy, best be getting on. Things to do and all that.
Hugs and kissy-poos from all the family,
Your obedient son,