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About London

Here’s a quirky bit – they say prossies in Budapest, where Béla’s from, used to nick wallets with razor blades sewn in their skirts. Mental, right? Dunno if this one’s got tricks, but I’m watchin’ her hands! Anyway, we sort it – twelve quid, done. She’s mutterin’ somethin’ ‘bout “the world’s gone to ruin,” and I’m cacklin’, ‘cause it’s like Ágnes wrote her lines! We shuffle off, me half-cut, her half-bored – proper romantic, eh?

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She decides to find out when she invites her boyfriend Samuel, Sam for short over to have sex. You know that saying not everything goes as plan, that's.

Magic in these lost spots, fo’ real.

Theatre Review: The Wedding Singer at Yeadon Town Hall