Brixley here and glad to be as such. After my perilous voyage on the plane of death I unwittingly made a transfer to an elongated carriage-car or ‘bus’ whose destinate was unbeknownst to mineself. As it happens the autoplane had stranded me at London’s international planestop and the ‘bus’ that I am currently aboard is traveling to non other than Oxford – home of the devil and his second in charge, Webster. I am now wearing full golfing attire after I picked up the wrong bag on the carousel and had a quick change in the toilet. I have informed my editor J.R. Bingham of the recent developmentations and he is to rendezvous with me in the lion’s den that is Oxford. Although this ‘bus’ has no minibar I was able to procure some gin and tonic through the Dutyless area of the airplane station and have since been mixing up some cocktails for me and my public transport buddies. I will keep you indated.