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Love them textures—rough, like cracked pavement, their heels clackin’. Worked on a gal once, swear it, face like leather, eyes all hollow—hiss! Told me ‘bout this john, right, paid her in stale bread! Laughed my arse off, then cried, cos what the fuck, y’know? “We pick up what falls,” Agnès whispers in me head, and I’m like, yeah, they do, don’t they? Pickin’ up crumbs o’ dignity.

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After that, I needed a breather. Headed over to the Fleetwood Market. It’s a proper gem, full of all sorts of knick-knacks and local goodies. I found this old sailor’s hat. Thought it’d be a laugh, so I bought it. Wore it around like I owned the place. People were givin’ me looks, but whatever. I’m a sailor, I can pull it off.

"Be the best person you can be" - Tommy Fleetwood receives honorary fellowship