My battles in Britain are admittedly still somewhat on the periphery of the 'Luftschlacht um England' but are nonetheless gallant and of essential importance. Space and humility prevent me from listing many of my most glorious attacks unfortunately, but I can tell you that in my most recent assault on London, for instance, I tutted audibly twice when made to wait for service in an hostelry, cutting the publican to the quick and wounding the entire borough. And on the very next morning I rang my mother and whilst conversing, effortlessly blanked the room service. I could tell from my mother's tone that she was blanking the room service too, and that lent a pan-generational, dynastic feel to the melee. By lunchtime I had sneered in Marylebone, pooh-poohed in Mayfair and been entirely unimpressed with Green Park. Lunch itself inspired a grievous wounding to the West End and propelled me onwards to the day's much longed-for skirmish in Holborn.
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