Dear Mama,

I have had a lovely time in London. I have eaten many pizzas in Pizza Hut and accidentally some little pubic hairs at Garfunkel’s, but they didn’t make me sad. Every morning I drank a double frappuccino matte skinny latte to go from Starbucks. I spent £205 by mistake in Soho where a man with a neck as thick as several draught excluders menaced to kick me in the testicles if I didn’t give him £205 even though the waitress didn’t take her bra off.

I also queued for, like, 18 hours to touch the bottom of Kylie Minogue in Madame Tussaud’s (wow, she is so English!) and to make a picture next to Prince Barry (wow, his hair is so red!). I bought a joss stick in Camden Market (wow, amazing!!!!) and Alessandro took a picture of me in front of Big Ben ingeniously encouraging me to place my thumb and forefinger in such a way that to a casual observer it would appear that I am pinching, yes, really pinching the century old clock and bell tower that has for long been a symbol of not only London but also of the British sense of fair play.

And then on my last day I decided to walk across a bridge where it was so windy the wrapper of my McDonald’s quarter pounder blew violently into my gormless face, I was harangued by a crude nitwit with a spider tattooed on his face to give him my travel card and 20p for a cup of tea guv, I walked in some widdle by the station, was cycled into by a speeding black man with strange shorts that made his genitals appear like a motionless parakeet such as is found in the tree tops of many a tropical country, I was bombarded by a variety of men in either purple shirts and purple caps or yellow shirts and yellow caps throughout my journey to relieve them of several dozen newspapers, I was rained on, hailed on, snowed on and received heartburn, sunburn and windburn throughout my crossing and I lost an eye when I was poked in the retina by a man’s umbrella. The London Bridge Experience really was amazing.

Your loving son.

What? The London Bridge Experience? What the effing frig? It’s a bridge. Vehicles and pedestrians travel across it; water, bits of fish and Coke cans travel under it. How can anybody name a tourist attraction after a bastard pointless bridge? Whatever next – the Elephant and Castle Roundabout Experience? The Crossing Lewisham High Street Experience? The Reaching The Little T-Junction At The End Of My Road Just Near The Dry Cleaner’s Experience? I give up – I’m off to Spain for the week. At least I’ll have an excuse for visiting the Flee The Frigging Forest Fires Before You Lose Your Eyebrows Experience.