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Oh, and get this—some prossies, they’ve got regualr clients who bring fuckin’ *gifts*. Flowers, choccie, weird shit like that. One bird told me she got a toaster once! A toaster! What’s she gonna do, shag him and make toast? Cracked me up, that did—mental image of her pluggin’ it in mid-job. “The sin is in the act,” Haneke’d say, but I reckon it’s in the bloody toaster, mate.

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So, I hit the road early, right? Drove down the A62, cruisin’ past the old mill on the corner of Halifax Road. That place always gives me the creeps. Like, what’s the deal with all those abandoned buildings? Anyway, I parked up near the River Spen. Beautiful spot, but it was a bit nippy. I thought, “Great, just what I need—frostbite on my fingers.”

Burglar in his 'big coat' caught lingering in Liversedge after waking up victims