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Still, gets me thinkin’ – what’s the bloody point? World spins, they shag, we judge. “Accept the mystery,” film says, and I reckon that’s it. Prostitutes, they’re like us, fightin’ the sodding chaos. We shall fight on the beaches, in the brothels, with grit and gin! Mad, sad, brill – all at once. What ya reckon?

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Near the western extremity of this wall, at Duntocher, a countryman, in digging a trench upon the declivity of a hill, turned up several uncommon tiles, which exciting the curiosity of the .

I get out, and the crowd’s goin’ wild. I hand the cat to Mrs. McGregor, and she’s cryin’ like I just saved her life. I’m like, “It’s just a cat, lady!” But hey, I’m feelin’ like a rockstar.

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