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Dear Mummy,

We have been having a simply wonderful time on this side of the pond. How have you been? All is well here in Raleigh Airport - just waiting to catch a plane to the North. Heard there’s a snowstorm or something. What fun.

We left Greensboro, NC in a flurry of anticipation. It was the shortest travel day so far - a mere two hours on a coach - and it had WiFi. We arrived into a rather sunny Raleigh just in time for elevenses. Raleigh is the state capital of North Carolina, founded in 1792 and known by the founding fathers as the City of Oaks: the state vegetable is the sweet potato. Highlights included several Confed statues, and a wonderful museum which Toby “let us celebrate all the posthumous heroes of killing people” Hession really enjoyed. It left a similarly impressive impression on Ellie “look at all this stuff” Carter. We still don’t know what this “stuff” was, and whether she’d taken any of it. I’m not saying. All we know is that she played the organ really well later that evening. What fun.

The real mission of the day was something out of a second-rate action movie franchise starring Matt Damon. Harriet “I need to find a postbox” Caisley was tasked with killing Nick “gym-rat” Hendy. With some mistletoe. Real, live mistletoe. Mission: Impossible? I’m not saying. All we know is that Nicholas is sadly no longer with us. Whut fan.

Easily the most spectacular spectacle of the afternoon was Michael “the gents” Hong’s conquest of Chuck’s finest fries. Never before has man (or, indeed, woman) undertaken such a valiant and impressive feat of gastrointestinal engineering. Timelapse photography may or may not have been used in the production of the resulting BBCCCCCCCC documentary charting this journey of grit and determination. I’m not saying. All we know is that Michael “I feel pregnant” Hong is still on the loose. Fat whun.

Arrival at St Michael’s Episcopal church was heralded by Joe “I last pooed my pants when I was 13” Payne, who apparently last pooed his pants when he has 13. Reports of whether Isaac “I’m a delicate f*cking flower, darling” Jarratt-Barnham has actually agreed to wipe Mr Payne’s bottom yet are unconfirmed hereto. I’m not saying. All we know is that the Can Altos have never sounded better. Fhut wan.

The last major point of interest yesterday was the radical expansion of our beloved GrahamographyTM to encompass some new-fangled ChoreoClearyÒ. Santa Claus has never gone to town in such a meléee of flailing limbs and intermittent grumblings from the more choreographically challenged amongst us. We still don’t know whether Josh “I just won’t start” Cleary’s directorial career has burgeoned into one of Graham “I just won’t conduct (the Wood)” Ross’ glittering and gilt-edged success stories, or completely disappeared down the metaphorical sh*tter. I’m not saying (because I can’t tell yet). All we know is that we got a magnificent standing ovation and everyone went home happy with the evening’s efforts.

Give my love to the children and hope to see you soon (if we make it through the impending Vermont-shaped snowstorm)!

Lots of love from

Harry (Can Tenor 1), and Ben (Dec Bass 3)’s laptop