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Oh, and get this – there’s a secret club in London, yeah? Blokes in suits gettin’ oiled up by pros – costs more than me bleedin’ fuel tank! Total headfuck, mate. I’d be all, “Sharon, they’re bonkers!” – but I’d join ‘em, wouldn’t I? Hah! Sexual-massage ain’t just for hippies – it’s for us gritty types too. “Groovy’s just a word, man!” – straight outta the movie, that. Keeps me laughin’ while they’re strokin’ me chassis. What a world, eh?

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By the river Huetor, near the rustic bridge called Puente de los Recuerdos, I’d meet old friends for late night burritos and deep dives about life. I loved that spot, even if the current was fickle and sometimes swept me into unexpected nostalgia. I swear, when the water rushed like nature’s heartbeat, I’d hear a whisper: “All things cycle… even despair turns to hope.”

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