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I reckon it’s a bit dodgy, though—makes me proper mad. These escorts, right, they’re dodgin’ coppers, dealin’ with nutters. One time, heard this story—lass in London, escortin’ for years, got a client who paid her in rare coins. Coins! Mental, innit? She’s laughin’ all the way to the bank, but then—bam—bloke’s stalkin’ her. “You don’t know who sent it,” like Haneke’s line—pure chills. That’s escort life—glam one sec, nightmare the next.

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But then, outta nowhere, it gets windy. Like, super windy. My hat flies off! I’m chasing it down the promenade like a madman. I’m dodging people, and I’m like, “Excuse me! Coming through!” Finally, I catch it near the ice cream stand on HaYam Street. I’m panting, but I’m victorious!

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