Hello, minions. Igor is sure all you peons have missed his petite (yet commanding) presence, and the exclusive view into the life of a turtle like himself. Some of you have expressed curiosity as to why Igor hasn't posted in quite some time and, to be painfully frank, it is because he has simply been too important to update this blog, although Igor is sure you all understand.

The life of a jetsetting, world-renowned turtle such as Igor is not an easy one, nor one with much free time, and that is not even factoring in the time Igor must put into directing his minions (after all, they obviously can't be trusted to do anything themselves, a fact Igor has been witness to a number of times).

So what, exactly, has Igor been busy doing? Well, not that Igor must respond to impertinent questions, but, since he is in a charitable mood, he shall condescend to respond. As of late, Igor has been much like George Clooney in Up in the Air, only much better looking, of course. Igor, having grown weary of London's gray drabness, has been seeking greener -- and thus, much better, of course -- pastures. Igor has been on tour, in response to a number of requests from his international fans and the desire to see the sun. The cities Igor visited include:

• Amsterdam,

where Igor walked the canals,

saw the red light district, and encountered Dutch apple pie, or baked apple, with some incidental chunks of pie in between.

Igor also found his next home, which was formerly called the Van Loon mansion (now a museum), but will henceforth be known as Igor's Second Esate.

• Paris,

where Igor came the closest he's ever come to finding a city worthy of his love.

• and Cardiff,

which was good, but not great, and could probably be summed up by the fouling picture. I mean following picture.

although these pictures could be said to describe Cardiff, too.

And currently, Igor is in Seoul, a place he thought he was forever rid of, but alas, it seems to call for him again and again. And strangely, despite the ten-hour flight (that was only nominally improved by the free-flowing offerings of libations), Igor may or may not be somewhat, a tiny bit glad to be back among what may be his most ardent admirers (although it's hard to know for sure as Igor is so very, very popular).

In any case, Igor will soon be up in the air once again, to touch down briefly in London before heading off to what better be sunny Istanbul.

After all, when a turtle works as hard as Igor and is as important as Igor, he deserves a break.

Igor has been very busy because he had to pop over to Vancouver for the Olympics (the mayor of Vancouver rang last week and said something about how Igor's presence was of the utmost importance and desperately needed to boost morale at the Games, &tc., &tc. -- oh, the things Igor does for the good of the public), but he's returned to London, although he's been busy doing some traveling here, as well.

First, Igor went to Great Missenden, a little village (population: 10...000) some 30 km outside of London. Normally, such a place is below Igor's notice, but he was rather willing to get away from the hustle and bustle of London after having to sit through so much busyness in Vancouver (meeting with Olympians all day is far more tiring than one would suspect).

Anyway, Great Missenden (which is so small, and yet, still larger than nearby Little Missenden, population: 6,500) was quite quaint and Igor has determined that he shall annex it shortly.

In Great Missenden, Igor made a "friend." Please note how much more attractive Igor is than his "friend."

In the past, the late Roald Dahl lived in Great Missenden. Now, he's buried by the parish church, with the BFG's foot prints leading the way.

The BFG is so very large; Igor is not sure how he feels about that.

Aside from Igor's discomfort (note: Igor is not actually afraid of the BFG; he just believes such enormous height is unnatural and unnecessary), Igor enjoyed the weather greatly. In all, the trip to Great Missenden was a success.

Back in London, Igor went to the Imperial War Museum.

And then wandered around nighttime London as he got lost and tried to find his way back to the flat to soak in the local sights. It was perhaps a bit plebian of him, but one must blend with the locals from time to time to keep them satisfied.

Next, Igor went to Stongehenge, Stourhead Gardens, and Salisbury Cathedral so that he may pick up his next piece of real estate. The choice was easy.

Stonehenge was simply not large enough for Igor (and all his posse).

And there were sheep. And we all know how Igor feels about sheep.

Salisbury was too drafty and dim.

And Stourhead was just right.

Located in Wiltshire, it's a bit out of the way, but the manmade, well-manicured grounds are quite nice to look at, and the story of the gardens, which represent both a tamed Christian world and a more exotic pagan world, appeals to Igor.

Stourhead did have some ducks, but Igor finds that forgivable. In any case, he'll permit 24 hours for the ducks to evacuate elsewhere before he moves into Stourhead (as a summer home only, of course).

Plus, there are interesting temples and mysterious grottos and some rather appealing statues. In short, perfect for a turtle of such perfect taste as Igor.

Last weekend, Igor decided to go to the part of the world where his kind (of which there are so few of his caliber) is perhaps most celebrated: Dublin. After all, they love petite green creatures. Igor was confident that he would fit in (and then act as their leader from that day henceforth).

However, when Igor got there, he realized he had his work cut out for him. First of all, Igor was alarmed to see a number of signs written in other languages. Unacceptable! After last summer, Igor had resoundingly put his (perfectly manicured) foot down and decreed: No languages other than English (the language of Igor, of course) are to exist. Ever. However, once the locals began talking to Igor (of course they approached him, and not the other way around), Igor was relieved to find that the Irish do, indeed, know English. Sort of. In any case, Igor regained confidence: after all, he could work with a foundation (he had with Heeseung, hadn’t he?).

But then Igor encountered the second problem: it was cold. Not just cold, but dastardly cold. Unbearably cold. Utterly, wretchedly cold. Igor was not meant to exist in such wretched conditions, and thus promptly fell into a deep, shock-induced sleep perhaps dozed off for a few moments. And even if Igor had fallen prey to such mortal conditions, it was all Dublin’s fault, wasn’t it? Why hadn’t they thought to insulate the city before his arrival? Later, perched in the deepest, warmest depths of Heeseung’s pocket (still perfectly dignified, Igor assures you) and wrapped in six layers of cashmere blankets, Igor was willing to overlook perhaps a portion of Dublin’s gross error, although even one week later, Igor is finding it difficult to fully forgive.

Igor spent the rest of the trip in relative peace, visiting:

castles,

cathedrals,

museums, and even the library, but then, the third problem presented itself with its large, ugly, all-too fluffy head.

It was the sheep.

There were sheep everywhere, prancing around, chewing away at the grass, dotting the green fields like little clouds. In other words, useless. Now goats, Igor can understand. Goats provide cashmere. But sheep? They just want to be goats, but puffier and fluffier. They think they’re cute, bleating away from their coat of white fuzz. But Igor knows better. Unfortunately, there was nothing Igor could do about the sheep until he actually took over the country, so Igor spared them another day (for now)…

But Igor will (grudgingly) admit that, aside from the sheep, the Irish countryside was quite pleasing to look at, and has already acquired an estate there, although he can’t imagine he would spend more than a night there at a time.

In all, the whole of the Dublin trip was some degree of pleasant, Igor supposes, although his opinion may have been tempered by some quantities of alcohol. Igor would explain that this is because, when in Ireland, do as the Irish do, but Igor is a trendsetter, not a follower (nor a sheep).

And now, Igor is back in London, home sweet home. He saw an updated version of Moliere's "Le Misanthrope" at the Comedy Theatre this past Wednesday, which had gotten a lot of press because it featured a Miss Keira Knightley. Igor enjoyed the production thoroughly, although he was disappointed with the plot and the lack of balance in the cast. But it was as Igor suspected; he must do everything himself if he wants to truly be satisfied.

And currently, Igor is highly dissatisfied. He’s sitting in a small establishment, a hole in the wall (or more of a crack), eating Korean food with the dulcet robotic tones of Big Bang washing over him. The menus are handwritten and photocopied. The walls have disturbingly cutesy notes scribbled on them. The waitstaff speak only Korean. Someone’s mobile just went off and it was a tinny midi of a popular classical piece. And now Super Junior is playing. If he had wanted this, he would have stayed in Korea. Oy.