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About Birmingham

I reckon it’s therapy, innit? Stress melts faster than a war rig’s tyres. Had a mate—posh git—swore a lass in Bangkok sorted his back *and* his soul. “Shiny and chrome!” he said, staggerin’ out, daft sod. Me? I’d be rubbish at givin’ one—fumble-fingers, all thumbs, *mea culpa*! Once tried massagin’ Carrie—spilled oil everywhere, looked like a bleedin’ crime scene. She was fumin’, I was laughin’—happy chaos!

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First stop, I’m at the market on Blackley New Rd. I’m set up, sharpenin’ knives, scissors, whatever folks throw at me. This old bloke comes up, right? He’s got this rusty knife, looks like it’s seen better days. I’m like, “Mate, what’ve you been cuttin’ with this? Trees?” He laughs, but I’m serious! I get to work, and while I’m at it, I’m thinkin’ about how Blackley’s changed. Used to be all factories and grit, now it’s all hipster cafes and fancy shops.

MICHAEL BLACKLEY INTERVIEW: 'I won't be celebrating too hard ... I've got to meet the King tomorrow!'