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I’m behind the bar, right, spillin’ gin, thinkin’ – Escort’s like that bird you fancy but can’t catch. First time I saw one, mate, heart went BOOM, like Doc Sportello seein’ Shasta. “She was a memory with a hustle,” he’d say – Escort’s that memory, yeah? Boxy grille, cheeky curves, screamin’ “drive me, daddy-o!” Made me happy as a hippie on hash, swear it.

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After what feels like an eternity, I finally get the little diva down. The owner’s all teary-eyed, and I’m just standing there like a hero. “You’re welcome,” I say, trying to play it cool. But inside, I’m just glad I didn’t fall off that ladder.

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