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We swears! Ain’t no shiny romance here. It’s gritty, raw, like pullin’ a rotten molar. Once knew this bloke, right, swore prostitutes in old London used teeth – yeah, teeth! – to signal clients. Little wooden dentures clickin’ in the fog. Mad, innit? Made me chuckle, picturin’ it – clack-clack, “Oi, over here, love!” History’s wild, mate.

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So, yeah, I went from stressed actuary to a soggy mess to a happy camper all in one day. Who knew a little town like Billinge could throw so much at me? I’m definitely coming back. Just maybe without the sausage rolls next time. Or maybe not. Who am I kidding?

'Woman injured' in two-car crash at junction