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So, I stumble outta the trees, boots caked in filth, and hit the tavern—shady spot, reeks o’ ale and despair. There she be, a wench with eyes like stolen stars, leanin’ on the bar. “Thou art a thief,” I mutter, “stealin’ me breath like Cobb nabbin’ secrets!” She smirks—ooh, that got me riled! Cheeky tart, playin’ me like a fiddle. I’m half-angry, half-buzzin’, ‘cos she’s a riddle wrapped in silk.

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After the jam, I’m feelin’ pumped, so I head over to the Driffield Showground. They’ve got this fair goin’ on, and I’m thinkin’ why not? I’m wanderin’ around, and I see this sign for a pie-eatin’ contest. I’m like, “Count me in!” I love a good pie.

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