Dear Winter,

Thank you for finally gracing us with your presence. I was so over being too warm in my coat. I guess all it took was "December" to appear on the calendar!
Happily,
I Love Cold Weather

Dear London Fog,

You never cease to amaze me. Your ability to make me feel like I live in a giant, snow globe humidifier is endlessly entertaining for me! Oddly enough, you make wandering the streets in the early morning quite enjoyable. And next to nothing makes the morning enjoyable. Well done you suspended, collection of water droplets. Oh, and you make the Earth very pretty while simultaneously instilling a desire to live in a Emily Bronte novel.
I Wish I Had a Friend Named Heathcliff,
British Weather Lover

Dear J.K. Rowling,

Write something else.
Imploringly,
I Need to Know What Happens to Albus Severus

Dear Harrods Christmas Parade,

First of all, as a disclaimer, I would like to request that you not become offended by my constructive criticism, for it is only that. I have witnessed the great efforts of Harrods to please and satisfy its clientele and my comments are only to further that objective. Now that we have that out of the way...
I need to know who organized this widely publicized extravaganza. They should be flown directly to New York City on Thanksgiving Day for a proper education. Macy's parade, anyone? I don't believe it's acceptable to call a poorly dressed clown, two women dressed as cupcakes, a perverted juggler, and one belligerent contortionist a parade. Granted, it all ended with Father Christmas meandering down the road, but my gosh, parades don't generally include 4 minutes of lag time between acts. It is supposed to be consistently joyful and not reminiscent of a freak show circus. YOU ARE HARRODS! I can almost guarantee it's not a budget issue, so what? What is keeping this from becoming a show-stopping annual London tradition? Or is it already considered that...?
I must restrict my comments to the deficient parade only because once I walked through those shiny golden doors, I was reminded why you are considered the leading London department store (and perhaps also given a clue as to where the budget was properly utilized).
Politely,
I've Seen Better

Dear British Weather,

You are confusing me. I chose my grad school simply because I anticipated chilly, cloudy weather. And rain. I anticipated, nay, looked forward to rain! This dreaded sun with all its UVA and UVB rays is horrible. Please overcome this strange warm trend and get back to some classic British gray skies.
I Didn't Come Here For Blue Skies,
Sunshine Hater

Dear World,

I'm back! Well, kinda. I can actually stand up now, so that's a substantial improvement. I did not enjoy being sick so can all of you stay home (as I did) when you are sick, recover, then rejoin society? If this is not possible, please don't cough into your hand then touch the Tube rails, bus seats, etc. Public transport is terrible enough without your microscopic diseases floating about infecting me.
Almost Recovered,
I Had a Terrible Week

Dear Londoners,

Who among you got me sick? I dislike you.
Dismally,
Taking a Blogging Break

Dear South Kensington,

Your architecture makes me smile. Love the symmetry. Love all the white. You make me want to live a Mary Poppins lifestyle. Why, oh why are you so expensive?
Blissfully,
A Simple Student

Dear Selfish Smokers,

I am certainly not one to judge life decisions...until they negatively impact others. I understand this is Europe and you live a super cool, seemingly blasé existence. Stupendous. Admirable. Great. You go on pretending that problems don't exist and choices don't have circumstances. How very Bohemian of you.
I do also understand that you are committed to defying conventions, which seems to require that you dismiss the numerous reports throughout the decades regarding the dangers of smoking; but the moment you carelessly exhale your hydrogen cyanide and ammonia in my face, I become unpleasant. Furthermore, why would you blow it in a child or baby's face? Step around the corner is all I ask. Find a hip alley. In all honesty, I may just be jealous that I was born with slightly defective lungs and you are intentionally murdering yours. Either way, please be kind to humanity.
Breathlessly (literally),
Your Asthmatic Fellow Citizen

P.S. This does not apply to mindful smokers who have realized that secondhand smoke is actually a thing.

Dear Jersey Boys,

Great job! I was certainly toe-tapping and finger-snapping this Friday evening. I loved our box seats. That was certainly a highlight. We were able to channel Frankie and dance our little hearts out. Glam. Just like our lives.
Appreciatively,
I Was Born in the Wrong Decade

Dear London Film Festival,

You have easily been the coolest thing I've done in London so far. Red carpets. Famous people. Amazing screening of Like Crazy. Although I cried 5 different times, it is simply a credit to the brilliance of your films. 
Cinematically Satisfied,
One Giddy Girl

Dear Fox Friend,

Thank you for stealthily wandering across our path tonight. You were such a highlight of our 11 p.m. jog fest. I still don't quite understand how you, a fox, could be in central London, but I accept it. I suppose you had fox business to attend to in the city park. I hope you found some food for your fox tummy.
Glad You Exist,
A Friendly Human

Dear MBT,

Yes, I have given you your very own acronym. That's how delicious you were. Bless your edible little soul, Mozzarella Tomato Basil sandwich. Alright, alright, so I guess you're technically called a Caprese Sandwich, but I omitted the pesto from the acronym should any pesto hater read this praising letter and immediately dismiss my accolades. You truly turned my day right around with your palatable conglomeration of flavors. I'm grateful for your existence.
Happily,
She Who Consumed You Hastily

Dear England,

Please explain where you acquired certain tastes and flavors. Prawn flavored crisps? Really? And furthermore (and quite possibly worse), bacon flavored?! I would sincerely like to review the quarterly earnings report to view the net sales of these two products in order to gauge the level of disgust I should maintain.
Perplexed & In Need of Lay's,
A Disturbed Patron

Dear Eddie,

In reality, I should have written "Dearest Eddie," "Glorious Eddie," "To My Life and Love," "To the Tony Winner Eddie Redmayne..." Forgive my lack of respect. I would like to personally thank you for coming back to London. Richard II? Amazing. You truly made my day. Week. Year even.
Adoringly,
Your Most Devoted Aficionado
P.S. You should be knighted. Hear that Queen Elizabeth? Knighted.

Dear IKEA,

You da best. I will forever be grateful to you for furnishing my many undergrad (and now graduate) living spaces for an inconsequential dollar amount. I only wish I was able to follow your simple directions without distorting the shape of my new purchases.
Gratefully,
Miss I-Need-My-Dad

Dear Europe,

What's with the techno obsession? I sincerely do not understand. I shouldn't feel the need to twirl a glow stick in order to enjoy my night club experience. It literally sounds like you recorded a car accident and added some bass.
Curiously,
A True Music Lover

Dear Rihanna Lover,

You're my freaking hero. Anyone that can look like a serial murderer, yet jump off the train (after 15 minutes of absolute silence) singing "Ooh NAH-NAH, what's. my. name?!" whilst gettin' jiggy wit it, gets my vote.
Gratefully,
An Adoring Fan

Dear Overly-Opinionated Tube Girl,

Not a single person cares about the level of your discomfort. Remember how everyone else is on the same train as you? Oh ya. We all know it's hot. We don't want to be stopped either. And for the record...the reason that every guy is staring at you is because you're loud. Not because they are "perverted" and "interested" in you.
Cordially,
Your Fellow Commuter

Dear London,

Air conditioning. It's a thing.
Sincerely,
An Uncomfortable American