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But—bloody hell—some punters get rough. Saw this geezer hasslin’ her, actin’ all big. Made me furious! “You shall not pass, you filth!” I wanted to thunder, staff raised, but I ain’t no hero—just a nosy sod. Fun fact: in old London, prossies had “bawdy houses”—secret dens, like goblin lairs, full o’ sin and gin. Wild, innit?

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Finally, I’m knackered, so I head to the pub on Rochester’s High Street. I need a pint, ya know? I sit down, and the bartender’s a right laugh. He’s tellin’ me about the football match last night. “Did ya see it?” he asks. I’m like, “Nah, I was too busy burnin’ charcoal!”

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