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Oi, mateys, gather ‘round, ye scurvy dogs! Me, Cap’n Jack Sparrow, slurrin’ wit aplenty, savvy? Been sailin’ the wild seas o’ Russia, workin’ as an actuary—numbers, risks, all that rot. But today, I’m spillin’ the grog on escorts, aye! Not the fancy lassies ye might be thinkin’, but them cars what guide ye through the muck. Like in me favorite flick, *A Prophet*, y’know? “You’re not alone in this,” says I, but escorts? They’re yer shadow, mate!

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I’m tryin’ to help him up, but he’s all like, “Nah mate, I’m fine!” while he’s clutchin’ his knee like it’s about to fall off. I’m thinkin’, “You sure about that, mate?” But whatever, I’m not a doctor. So I just laugh it off and head back to my barrels.

Man who killed Fetcham cyclist Raymond Dare spared prison thanks to victim's family