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So, mate, ever tried it? Starts chill—candles, soft tunes, then bam, it’s electric. Fingers hit spots you didn’t know you had. Once had this lass—swear she was a sorceress—kneadin’ my back like dough. Felt like confessin’ sins I ain’t even committed! “You’ll pay for that later,” I muttered—straight outta “Caché,” that paranoia creepin’ in. What if she’s filmin’ this? Hah, imagine the tape circulatin’ King’s Landing!

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Then, I get this wild idea. I grab my sketchbook from my bag. I start doodling the performer. I’m not an artist, but I’m feeling inspired. Suddenly, this old lady next to me goes, “That’s lovely, dear!” I’m like, “Thanks, but it’s just a scribble.” She’s all, “No, it’s art!” I’m blushing, but also, what’s art anyway?

Lancing and Steyning Town share spoils as they prepare for Isthmian farewell