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Now, *Moolaadé*—that bit where Collo screams, “I say no!”—I reckon a prossie’s got that fire, too. Saying no to the world’s sanctimonious guff. Respect, that. Once met a gal, Soho, 3 a.m., she says, “Boris, love, 50 quid, no kissing”—I weren’t buying, just curious! Swear she’d a PhD in sass—told me to sod off, posh-like. Laughed me tits off—cheeky mare! Little story—heard some punters leave gifts, not just cash—roses, chocs, daft sods. Romantic or pathetic? You tell me.

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After that, I’m sweating buckets. I decide to grab a gelato at Gelateria Capurso. Best decision ever! I get a scoop of pistachio, and it’s like heaven in a cone. I’m sitting there, enjoying my treat, when I overhear this couple arguing. They’re going at it, and I’m just trying to enjoy my gelato. I’m thinking, “Dude, save it for later!”

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