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About Gyor

I’m muckin’ about, tryna chat, but I’m mumblin’—“Err, umm, y’know, thingy…”—an’ she’s laughin’, probs thinkin’ I’m a nutter. Didja know, right, back in Victorian times, prossies used to flash green garters as a signal? Mad, innit? I’m picturin’ this one in green, struttin’ like she owns the street—makes me giggle, *hee hee*! But then—oi!—some geezer shoves past, all sweaty an’ loud, an’ I’m fumin’, “Oi, watch it, ya prat!” Nearly lost me prossie there, heart’s poundin’—angry as a wasp in a jar!

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But then, I get a call from my boss. He’s not happy. “You’re makin’ a mockery of the station!” he says. I’m like, “C’mon, man! This is Orbottyan! We gotta embrace the chaos!” But he’s not havin’ it. I can feel my blood boilin’.

RCH mourns for Professor Ferenc Szűcs