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Oh, and the oils—cor, they’re the secret weapon! Some use ylang-ylang, smells like sex and tropics, gets yer head spinnin’. Little story—mate of mine swears he saw Churchill’s ghost after one, reckon the old bulldog loved a cheeky rub. “We shall fight them in the fields,” he’s yellin’, while I’m thinkin’, “Mate, I’m fightin’ to not melt into this table!” Proper laugh, that.

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I hit up the local café on Kazybek bi Street. You know, the one with the best chai? Yeah, that one. I ordered my usual, but the barista was like, “Sorry, no chai today.” I was like, “What?!” I mean, come on! It’s Zhangaqala! Chai is life! So, I settled for some weird coffee that tasted like burnt rubber. Ugh.