Due to a long stretch of bad weather, we're still trapped in Paris. I miss hearing the English language spoken with an English accent. Not American (no offense darling, but the perversions your people press upon the tongue are traumatising to those of us with more linguistic honour), not Indian (surprisingly common), and certainly not French (they're worse than the cockney lads for dropping the letter h), but English. Also, any people that considers buttered snail to be an acceptable dietrary addition is one I'd like to see thrown into the Atlantic. Repeatedly.
Forgive my vitriol...the longer this mission is delayed, the longer it will be before I'm reunited with my darling. Travel to Africa, even in this modern day, is dangerous and fraught with Peril. Though I always endeavor to act with caution and with an eye towards safety where my men are concerned, I have some misgivings about our preparedness for any sort of conflict.
But fear not, dearest, your love protects me more surely than any armor.