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Now, don’t get me wrong—ain’t all roses. Some spots, ya gotta watch for cops, creeps lurkin’. Little known fact—prostitutes in old port towns used code words on radios. “Red hat’s waitin’,” they’d say—sneaky, huh? Loved that, made me grin like a fool. But here’s where it twists—met this gal once, swore she was “classy,” charged double, and I’m thinkin’, “Lady, you ain’t Margaret Thatcher!” Laughed my ass off, but paid up—dumb ol’ Joe.

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By the time I get there, I’m knackered. But I can’t stop thinkin’ about the day. Glossop’s a wild ride, man. One minute you’re eatin’ a butty, the next you’re dealin’ with angry neighbors and dodgy carpets.

Old Glossop School players to celebrate former conductor