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Now, hold your horses—I ain’t judging! *Cave felis*, beware the cat, as the Romans’d say. Some punters reckon it’s all fun, a lark, but I’ve seen mates get proper stung—cash gone, dignity out the window. One lad, right, thought he’d met a “duchess”—turns out she nicked his wallet! Laughed my socks off, but he was fuming, red as a beetroot. Made me think—*The Assassin* again—“The mirror reflects truth.” Truth here? It’s a gamble, innit?

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Alright mate, listen up. Sanderstead's a quirky dump—but in a charming, “City of God”-like way. I run my spa here, so I notice every damn crack in the pavement. Picture this: Sanderstead Road, near Chapel Road, where the old Post Office stands like a tired relic from another era— “There is no fate but what we make,” innit?

'Croydon Cat Killer' fears after brutal Sanderstead incident