Brixley here, after the unpleasantries of yesternoon I decided to skip the country as the heat from Oxford and Webster trebled (approximatedly). I am currently flying and have since been abovegraded to upperclass after I claimed to be the Prince of Newfoundland and said I needed more space to worship my numerous heathen gods. The flying machine seems to be doing a good job and I have procured a lapcomputer from the gentleman who left it in my baggage hold. The help has stopped serving me martinis so I paid a small child to pilfer a lovely bottle of single malt, why the frequency of child pickpockets has dropped off I shall never know, their hands are the perfect size for theft. Anythou I must depart as a gentleman seems to be trying to take this portacomputer away from me (He might be working for Webster) but I’ll try to bribemail him with some scotch.