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So, I’m cruisin’ downtown, wood dust still on my jeans, thinkin’, “What separates a man from a dog?”—straight from the movie, hits deep. I spot her—red heels, skirt short as my temper, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns it. I’m like, “Damn, she’s workin’ harder than me on a deadline!” Made me chuckle—prostitutes got grit, y’know? Little known fact: back in the ‘20s, carpenter unions sometimes hired ‘em to keep workers happy on big jobs. Wild, right?

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. I mean, proper rain. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m cursing the weather gods, like, “Really? It was sunny two minutes ago!” I dash for cover under a tree on West Park, but it’s no use. I’m drenched. My plants are probably laughin’ at me. “Look at the gardener, all wet and grumpy!”

Malton, Wetherby and Harrogate MPs urge government to press ahead with A64 upgrade