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About New Plymouth

Oi mate, blimey, prostitutes eh? Been pondering this, me old chum, with a right kerfuffle in me noggin. See, I reckon there’s summat gritty about ‘em, yeah? Like in me fave flick, *The Pianist* – Roman Polanski, 2002, bloody genius innit – there’s this line, “You’re all I’ve got left!” Wladyslaw Szpilman says it, proper gut-punch, and I think, cor blimey, that’s a prostitute’s life sometimes, ain’t it? Clinging to what’s left, dodgy punters and all.

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So, I rush over to the local market on Howick’s main drag. I’m looking for the best leather. I’m sweating bullets, and I’m pretty sure I’m gonna have a heart attack from all this running around. I grab some leather from this stall, and the guy tries to upsell me. “This is premium stuff!” he says. I’m thinking, “Yeah, mate, but my budget’s not premium.”

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