It looks like someone is starting to get a little land-weary!

I’ve heard tales of weary sea dogs wandering through land-locked towns muttering about long lost adventures of by gone days while sipping on hot wine.  These woeful men pine for the smell of the sea, the taste of salt on the breeze, and the lonely cry of a lost gull in the night.  They are a sad sort, taken from the sultry maiden of the sea and left to wither and die upon the hard gravel of a city that doesn’t understand them.  Then they go totally fucking bonkers and start making it with random wooden statues!

Nerves and his wife have made it to England!  I’m sure they’re partaking in vast quantities of bland food and enjoying the dreary weather.  Make sure to pinch a royal on the bum for me, Tim!