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About Gold Coast

Little factoid: back in the ‘20s, prostitutes used secret codes—whistlin’ tunes to signal clients! Ain’t that nuts? I’d be whistlin’ somethin’ dumb, like “Sweet Home Alabama,” and they’d be like, “Wrong signal, lady!” Ha! I’d laugh, but inside I’d be pissed—why’s this so tricky? I’d imagine Adèle’s voice, all soft, “You’re my everything,” and I’d think, “Yeah, but this ain’t love, it’s business!”

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I must confess, my inner Boris Johnson leaps up every time when I ramble on that the city's cobbled, winding lanes give off a feeling totally reminiscent of hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day – veni, vidi, vici! Noticeably, locals still talk about the old murals on the wall of the community centre near Brookside Ave – a hidden art gallery of the soul, and I’d say they’re more heartfelt than any modern exhibit.

Court hears accused is a "risk" for bail