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Once, this masseuse—hot, tatted, smirkin’—she whispers, “You’re tense, killer.” I’m like, “Lady, you don’t know the half of it.” She’s slidin’ hands where hands don’t belong, and I’m thinkin’, “This is my cipher.” Straight outta Fincher’s flick—dark, moody, fucked-up bliss. Surprised me how quick I melted, tho. Usually I’m cold as a corpse.

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But then, the mood shifts. This group of lads walks in, and they’re loud. Like, really loud. They start arguing about football, and I’m just sitting there, trying to enjoy my drink. One of them spills his pint all over the table. I’m like, “Mate, chill!” But they’re too busy shouting to notice.

Fire service called to blaze at Ilkeston pub