Dear David Beckham the former professional footballer 

Here I am still in Munich where they’re having a thing called Oktoberfest, which is German for October Fest, which is weird because it’s still September.

I suppose SeptemberFest was already taken by other more efficient Germans from Frankfurt or something (where the frankfurters come from!!).

It all seems like massive fun, but I’m finding it difficult to enjoy, as they don’t serve my favourites (Orange squash and a p…p…pick up a Penguin bar), so for me it’s all a bit of a damp squid.

Also, the place is crawling with Manchester United fans, who we played on Wednesday night in a thing called “the Champions League” (the football team, not the fans - we would have been totally outnumbered by fat blokes from Guildford called Barry!!!) and we won thanks to their goalkeeper being the guy who won the fan club raffle for a chance to get a game.

Amazing to think that’s how I started out, and I only entered for a laugh because I don’t even support Spurs (they’re crap). I got a penalty, which they call an “Elfmeter”* in German, which is weird because I never saw any elves or hobbits or nothing, and the only meter I’ve got is in the cupboard under the stairs for the electric. Perhaps that’s where the elves are, and now I can never go in there. 

Last weekend was a proper laugh - ran into our old mate Granit Xhaka when we played a team called Bayer Leverkusen (which is German for Bavarian Leverkusen), and things were so chummy we let them have a point, and Granit Xhaka (which is Albanian for Jack Granite**) asked if I was going to get a trophy this season harr harr, which was nice of him. 

Anyway, I can’t wait for December to roll round, because Munich will be hosting Europe’s biggest English Christmas Market, where you’ll be able to buy hooky Versace gear from a genuine geezer, visit a mardy Santa, eat traditional British food (can’t wait to taste a limp burger with mushy onions again), before being ripped off by the pick’n’mix stall. And you’ll still have change from 250 quid. Just like back, home eh?

I bet over in America you’ve got whole shopping streets of overpriced English sweetshops which are really fronts for tax evasion and money laundering, but you can still get red Bounty bars if you’ve got fifty notes to spare. 

Anyway, must dash, I’m going to Jens Lehmann’s house after I accidentally made eye contact at a charity do, and he’s going to show me his chainsaw collection. He’s the kind of guy you can’t turn down (because of his chainsaw collection).

Your pal, Harry Kane, the professional footballer 

PS Tell Victoria I’ll bring her the shortbread biscuits she likes in a tartan tin from the English Christmas Market. 

*Elfmeter = eleven metres = twelve yards, the distance from the goal line to the penalty spot. And now we have all learned something. 

** Almost, Harry probably uses Google Translate