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So I’m down Soho way, right, dodgy corner, smells like piss an’ regret. This bird, she’s standin there, skirt shorter than a bombed-out bridge. I says, “We shall never surrender, love, what’s yer price?” She laughs, all husky, says, “Tenner fer a quickie, guv.” Ten quid! I near choked on me cigar – wartime rations cost less! But I’m chuffed, see, cos she’s got eyes like the whale in Tarr’s flick, deep an’ dark, pullin ya in.

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Finally, I get in. And wow, just wow. The colors! The smells! I’m in flower heaven. I’m wandering around, and I bump into this dude named Jan. He’s a local, and he starts telling me about the history of tulips in Lisse. Apparently, they were once worth more than gold. Gold! I’m like, “Dude, I should’ve brought my shovel.”

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