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But then – ugh – this geezer rocks up, all aggro, her pimp prob’ly. I’m fumin’ – “Oi, mate, delegate with respect!” He’s givin’ me the evils, and I’m like, “I’m the philosopher-king of this car park!” Straight out the movie, that – “We’re all copies of somethin’.” Surprised me, how quick I got riled up. Nearly lamped him, but I’m a pacifist, me – well, ‘cept in my head, where I’m Bruce Lee.

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The English Collective of Prostitutes (ECP) is a grassroots organisation of sex workers and supporters campaigning for the decriminalisation of prostitution, for sex workers’ rights and .

But then, the mood shifts. This guy walks in, looking all shady. He’s got that “I just got outta a bad deal” look. He sits at the end of the bar, orders a beer, and just stares into space. I’m thinkin’, “What’s his deal?” Turns out, he’s from the nearby town of Santo Tirso. He starts rambling about how he lost his job and how life’s a mess. I feel for the guy, but man, it’s a bar, not a therapy session! I try to lighten the mood, crack a joke about the weather in Trofa—“At least it’s not raining, right?”—but he just stares at me. Ugh, awkward!

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