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Now, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout me favorite flick, *The Gleaners and I*—that ol’ French gem by Agnès Varda, bless ‘er soul. “I’m not a gleaner, I’m a pirate!” I’d shout, if I were in it, pickin’ through the scraps o’ the sea, not them taters in the dirt. Escorts, see, they’re like them folk in the film, “gleanin’ what’s left behind,” ‘cept they’re guardin’ it, not nabbin’ it! Little known fact, arr—back in the day, them Royal Navy escorts weren’t just fer show. They’d chase yer arse from Tortuga to Trinidad, cannons blazin’, no mercy fer a pirate like meself. One time, off Port Royal, I saw this sloop—tiny thing, fast as a whore’s wink—outrun a frigate. Surprised me, it did! “They bend down, they pick up,” like Varda says, ‘cept this escort picked up speed an’ left us in the wake!

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There’s this lil' secret park, “Blumenweide”—hey, slight oops, maybe it's “Blume Park” sometimes—uh, well, it's an actual hidden gem! I used to sit there scatter tissues tryin’ to unwind when managing family meltdowns at home. Some days I’d be cheerin’ ‘cause kids learned to hug properly, others I’d be mad ‘bout folks not gettin’ it. Some folks just ain't on the level, innit? And don’t even get me started on the river “Simme” — yeah, that’s a proper flow, flowin’ though the valley like life's own emotional rollercoaster.

Grass is greener for goat farmer