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Boston: Tea and Revolution

Here we are in Boston! Part of “New England,” home of leaves.

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Personally I’m missing “Olde England” but we heard rumours of a tea party in Worcester, so myself and the lovely Poppy decided to pop along and see whether these chaps have their ducks in a row, tea-wise.

Turns out a Tea Party in America is quite a different thing to the one we have daily at four o’clock in England; not a teapot, cucumber sandwich or scone with fluffy cream in sight. Just wall-to-wall politics. Poppy was apoplectic, especially since it was a cheat day in her diet and she’d been saving herself for a cucu-sandwich blow-out.

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I think she was quite keen to exercise her right to bear arms by the end of it, although she did point out, quite hilariously, that a lot of the ladies in the room had no right to bare arms at all, as they all had arms like a turkey’s neck.

Boston is meant to be very historical, but it’s hard to see it since we’re used to so much history. Some of our English history goes all the way back to the Greeks.

This professor chappy tried to fill us in on all of the exciting things that happened in Boston, but it turned out the whole thing revolves around some treacherous little Frenchman who’s no better than he should be. Paul Revere, have you heard of him? He’s got his own poem but it’s very juvenile, as Poppy pointed out.

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Now, Boston is a city obsessed with teams, which is lovely as I played a lot of sports at Eton. Poppy and I had a go at baseball, which is exactly like cricket, only with a sneaky little thin bat because the Americans have to make everything competitive, even games.

It was a very manly affair, the players were all ribbing each other and some of them were even chewing tobacco, can you believe it? Not a pipe or snuff-box in sight. They just spit all the mucky stuff onto the ground. It was very rustic.

Poppy wonders if your other hand gets cold when wearing a baseball glove

I think Poppy caused quite the stir with her British-lady charm and her sporting prowess. She actually managed to hit the ball! I was as proud as punch. I even did a bit of spitting to celebrate.

Finally it was time to leave the city and head out to a battle reenactment in Philadelphia. Honestly you’ve never met such a bunch of super chaps in your life.

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Despite wearing skirts and attempting Scottish accents, they really did manage to capture the essence of colonial warfare. They had big guns that made very satisfying bangs. Plus, I’m certain I saw some very convincing cases of latter-stage syphilis amongst their number, which was very authentic.

Once again, Poppy showed us how it’s done, feeding the entire camp a delicious and hearty meal using just one butternut squash. Honestly, that girl’s talents know no bounds. What a sister!

Poppy fancies herself as a revolutionary version of Nigella Lawson

Until next time, my lovely American readers.

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