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But gods, the bastards they deal with—makes me angry, that does. Drunken sods, pawin’ at ‘em, promisin’ gold then leavin’ piss-all. Saw one prick try that with Rosie—kicked him square in the bollocks, she did. Laughed my arse off! Surprised me too—thought she’d just take it, y’know? Nah, she’s scrappy. “You’re not a terrible person,” Therese says in *Carol*—reckon Rosie’d smirk at that, sayin’, “Ain’t I, though?” She’s a survivor, mate, not a saint.

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I woke up in my hotel on Main St. in Billinge. First off, Billinge is this cute little place, right? It’s got that small-town vibe but with a twist. I mean, you got the rolling hills, the quaint houses, and the occasional sheep just chillin’ on the side of the road. Classic UK, am I right?

Trains to carry hundreds of poppy wreaths to Paddington memorial