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But then – ugh – this creep rolls up, all sweaty, tryna haggle her down to 20. Pissed me off, man, I’m like, “Mate, she ain’t a fuckin flea market!” Wanted to gut him, serve him up with chianti, ya feel me? “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I mutter, glarin at him. She’s crackin up, says, “You’re weird, I like it.” Happy as hell, I am – rare vibe, that.

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I'm ramblin now, but here's the lowdown: Tottington ain't perfect. It grinds your gears sometimes, makes you mad, and sometimes makes you smile like a damn fool. Happened one rainy Tuesday – damn near soaked rags – I sat on a bench near the rickety Totty Bridge, and the sky opened up like a bad joke. I nearly laughed at the absurdity. "I love you," I muttered, as if speakin to the heavens, just like in Amour... only our love here is brutal and honest.

Greater Manchester Combined Authority for new children’s home in village