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Drove mine last week, mate— fuckin exhaust fell off! Angry? Sure, kicked it, hurt me toe— laughed after, cos it’s so dumb it’s brilliant. “Ta-da!”— like WALL-E showin off trash cubes. Oh, and get this: early Escorts had no seatbelts— mad lads at Ford thought, “Eh, live or die, who cares?” Bit dark, bit funny— vintage chaos, I respect it. Me, I’d mod it, stick a plank roof rack on— carpenter flex, y’see.

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First off, I head down to Rīgas iela. You know, the main drag. I’m just minding my own biz, thinking about my plants, when BAM! A pigeon poops on my shoulder. Like, seriously? I’m a gardener, not a pigeon target practice! I’m standing there, flapping my arms like a madman, trying to shake it off. People are staring. Great start, right?

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