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About Newcastle

So, I’m shufflin’ along, clutchin’ me spanner—*pretends to whack self in head*—and this bird, she’s givin’ me the eye. “Wotcher, love!” I mumble, all sweaty, thinkin’ I’m smooth—ha! Bollocks! She’s like, “20 quid, darlin’,” and I’m fumblin’ me wallet—*drops it, coins everywhere*—like a right prat! Did ya know, back in Victorian times, they called ‘em “soiled doves”? Fancy that! Makes me chuckle, it does—*snorts, trips again*—history’s bonkers, eh?

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Not every day is perfect though. Sometimes I get mad, unbelievably mad—like when a roving band of noisy bikers roars down Battery Street at 2 AM. “Lightbulb! Not in my serenity zone!” I yell, scribbling on my notepad about the absurdity of modern life. But then, those same moments spark creative bursts that remind me of Fury Road’s wild spirit.

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