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I’m chattin her up, right, and she’s all “50 quid, guv.” Bargain, I think – cheaper than a bloody Aston Martin tune-up. “Let’s get outta here, sport,” I say, quotin good ol’ Royal again. She’s smirkin, I’m buzzin – it’s a deal. But mate, the stench of cheap perfume? Ugh, made me wanna gag – worse than Blofeld’s lair.

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I hang near the Litton Park, yup. It's small but effin’ charming. We got that mini river, the Gloam, flowin’ by. I sit there, thinkin’ ‘bout Moolaadé lines “Courage... Rarrgh!” – yeah, that hit me deep. Totally moves my soul.

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