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Alright, listen up, you lot—sexual-massage, yeah? It’s a bloody mess, innit? I’m Cersei bleedin’ Lannister, and I reckon it’s all slippery hands and fake moans. Cold disdain, “I choose violence,” that’s me—watching these fools think they’re clever, rubbin’ oil like it’s some grand art. Pfft. Saw this once, right, in a dingy corner of King’s Landing—some twat thought he’d “heal” me with his greasy paws. Told him, “Touch me again, and I’ll gut you.” He didn’t. Smart lad.

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So, I’m trying to focus on my work, right? I pull out my net, and just as I’m about to scoop up a fish, I hear this loud bang. I jump, spill my coffee all over my notes. Great. Just great. I look around, and it’s some construction crew on Collier Row Road. They’re tearing up the street. I’m like, “Can’t a fish nerd catch a break?”

Romford MP urges Havering Council to halt any plans of library closure and instead engage in dialogue.