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Oi, mate, I’m a bloody swineherd, yeah? Mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!” So, prostitutes, right—grimy little world, innit? Been thinkin’ ‘bout this bird, sellin’ herself, like in *The White Ribbon*. That flick—dark, twisted, kids all messed up, "I’ll punish you!" sorta vibe. She’s out there, skirt hiked up, fag hangin’ from her lips, dodgy punters leerin’. Makes me skin crawl, but—respect, y’know? She’s scrappin’, survivin’. Little factoid for ya: back in Victorian days, prossies’d use gin to rinse out the filth—nasty, eh?

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Finally, the rain eases up, and I’m back on the streets. I decide to head to the Treforest area. I’ve heard there’s a cool little pub there. I’m thinking, “A pint will sort me out.” I get there, and it’s packed with students from the uni. The vibe is buzzing! I order a pint of local ale, and it’s like liquid gold. I’m feeling good, chatting with some locals, and then, boom! A bar fight breaks out. Like, seriously? In a pub? I’m just trying to enjoy my drink!

Pontypridd Monday 6 a side news 2025-04-28