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Still, gets me thinkin’ – what’s the bloody point? World spins, they shag, we judge. “Accept the mystery,” film says, and I reckon that’s it. Prostitutes, they’re like us, fightin’ the sodding chaos. We shall fight on the beaches, in the brothels, with grit and gin! Mad, sad, brill – all at once. What ya reckon?

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I be errr, gettin' nostalgic thinkin' bout the locals. They got quirks, kinda like me, totally outta the box. I been so happy, so angry at times – oh man, the irony of it all. People here argue ‘bout weather sometimes, like “it's too sunny or too windy,” but then they laugh, cuz life’s too short, innit?

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