I don’t get sentimental very often—unless breaking down and locking myself in a closet out of fear for the future counts as “sentimental”—but nevertheless, I had to brush a few tears from my eyes when the tour dirigible floated into London. The truth is, I miss England. Not in a patriotic way, of course, or in a nostalgic-for-my-youth way (the few memories of my childhood I haven’t blocked out are decidedly unpleasant), but simply because England is the best piece of land on earth, excluding certain remote regions which humans haven’t been able to ruin. It’s certainly the best stop on our tour. Here’s why:

-The weather is divine. After weeks of touring in warm climates where the sun is always shining and the skies are always clear, I feel like hanging myself with an organic hemp rope. Just in time, I arrive back in England, where the Thames is always dirty, it always rained yesterday, and the fog envelops the buildings like a beautiful shroud of depression, like the trench coat I wore in high school.

-I know all these Welsh jokes I’m dying to tell on stage, but outside of England, they tend to fall rather flat. I was in Milan and I said, “Did you all hear the Welsh found a new use for their sheep? Wool!” Maybe it was the language barrier (I know it wasn’t my delivery), but I think it went over their heads.

-When I introduce the song “Bangers ‘n Mash” in the UK, no one starts snickering like the US crowds do. It means sausages and potatoes, okay? Grow the fuck up.