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About London

Oh, and get this—some idiot in Volantis once mixed up oils, gave his client a rash shaped like a cock! Swear it’s true, saw the sketch in an old scroll. Laughed ‘til I choked. Sexual-massage, eh? Half the time it’s a jest, half the time it’s a blade in disguise. “Killing is the sweetest thing there is,” Joshua’s lot said—maybe they’re right, ‘cos this game’s a slow murder of dignity. I’d rather flay a man than fake a sigh, any day. Thoughts in me head? Burn it all down. Every last oily table. That’s my take—take it or sod off!

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So, I’m walkin’ down to the High Street, and I see this old bloke, Mr. Jenkins, tryin’ to cross the road. He’s like 90, bless him. I rush over, help him out. He’s ramblin’ on about the good ol’ days, talkin’ ‘bout how Kempston used to be all fields and farms. I’m like, “Yeah, mate, I get it. But now it’s just roundabouts and takeaways.”

Police recover stolen goods including digger and lawnmower from Kempston Hardwick