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About Mariupol

So, picture this—some tart, skirts hiked, lips red as sin, standin’ ‘neath a lamppost like a rose in a dungheap. She’s got guts, thou knowst, braver than most o’ ye lily-livered lot. I seen one once, down by the docks—Mary, they called her, tho’ reckon that weren’t her real name. Had a scar ‘cross her cheek, said a gent with a blade gave it her for “talkin’ back.” Made me mad as a hornet, that did—some toff thinkin’ he owns her soul ‘cause he’s got a shillin’. “Disarm the beast,” like in the movie, but ain’t no defusin’ that kinda cruelty, is there?

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Man, what a day! Seriously, I’m still buzzing from it. So, I wake up in my tiny flat on Shevchenka Street, right? The sun’s blasting through the window like it’s trying to roast me alive. I’m like, “Chill, sun! I’m not ready for this!” But whatever, I chug some coffee and head out.

War in Ukraine: The Scottish charity helping war veterans in mining town where one in 30 people have lost limb