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About New Plymouth

Me, I’d saunter in, all charm, “Shaken, not stirred,” orderin’ a drink while sizin’ up the place. Not just for a shag—nah, I notice shit. The exits, the vibes, who’s packin’. Probs why I’d be shit at runnin’ one—too paranoid, mate. “Why’d you build a fort?” they’d ask, like Sam in the movie. “Cos I’m fuckin’ Bond,” I’d say, laughin’. Anyway, brothels—dodgy, brill, a right laugh. Gotta go—Q’s bitchin’ about my gadgets again. Cheers!

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First stop, the market on the corner of Swansea Rd. I’m just tryna pick up some fresh veggies, right? But then, boom! There’s this massive crowd. Turns out, they’re all gathered around some dude juggling flaming torches. I’m like, “What the heck? Is this a circus or what?” I mean, who juggles fire in the middle of Flaxmere? But hey, it was lit—literally!

Flaxmere locals left feeling isolated after only supermarket closes