Over the next several weeks, the Albatross will get a unique view into the general craziness of the 2012 London Summer Olympics, thanks to our embedded correspondent Jordan Hartshorn. OK, he’s not really embedded so much as escaping his life of misery in Canada. But while he’s there, we are very glad to have him explain the city and the Games for us. Here is his first dispatch.

Everyday I wake up it’s bloody raining. It rained yesterday, and the day before that. It used to make me miserable, but now I embrace it with all the love a Stockholm Syndrome victim can have.

For work I pull pints at a pub where I often hold my own in any conversation about football — only if it’s the one where you can’t use your hands.

The other day I said “bullocks” without irony even if it tasted like selling out. I can navigate the Underground without a map and always mind the fucking gap.

Why? Because I live in London, dammnit, and that’s what Londoners do.

Well, sorry, not really. I’m far from a proper Londoner, being a child of the colonies and all, but that resume makes me feel like one. And hell, it’s not hard to feel like you belong here. Just show up – soon. Like, July 27 through Aug. 12 soon. We’re hosting this shindig called the Olympics. Everyone is going to be here – even Bhutan. And you do know how to throw down better than Bhutan, right? Yeah, fuck Bhutan.

These Games are going to grab you by the balls, I swear. Why? Because that’s how London rolls. The world couldn’t have a more appropriate and accessible place for a global piss up. Everyone speaks English these days, with varying degrees of success, so everyone can get to know one another. London is already the most visited place in the world, so most of us know what’s up anyway.

For the uninitiated, I got your back. For those who can’t make it, I got you covered too, dawg. I’ll be providing “coverage” of these Games for the Albatross and couldn’t be more thrilled.

I don’t know the nooks and crannies of this fine city, but I’ll try and shine a light on what I know during this 30th Olympiad. Who knows, maybe I’ll make my way into the Athletes’ Village? Sample the finest spotted dick London has to offer? Hook up with an East German hammer throw contestant? General reportage, ya know?

I’ll try and keep it light, but if shit gets seriously serious, I apologize. The Olympics aren’t always a metaphor for something greater, but that doesn’t mean sport can’t represent something more than itself. Oh, and because this is a Canadian blog/website/communist pamphlet, I’ll do my best to cover angles that involve this fine country.

Cheers, guys. Should be fun.