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Once, this twat on the dock goes, “Whiting’s lush, mate!” Lush? LUSH?! Idiot sandwich! I nearly chucked it at his head – “You’re a disgrace to tastebuds, you muppet!” Tastes like soggy cardboard, swear down. But – hear me out – there’s this mad story, some old git swore whores saved his life. Starvin’ in ‘63, caught a shoal, lived off ‘em. Reckon he’s lyin’, but it’s stuck in me head, y’know? “Truth is a bitter pill,” like in *Leviathan*. Bitter as that fish, mate.

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Next, I head over to Via Garibaldi. It’s the main street, full of shops and stuff. I’m browsing, and I see this cute little boutique. I walk in, and the owner, Lucia, is super friendly. She’s showing me these amazing handmade scarves. I’m like, “I can’t afford this!” But she insists I try one on. I look in the mirror, and I’m like, “Wow, I look fabulous!” But then I remember my bank account.

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