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About London

Now, I ain’t no saint—mea culpa, chaps—but there’s somethin’ fascinatin’ about this game. Did ya know, back in Victorian times, they called ‘em “soiled doves”? Proper poetic, innit? Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ of some toff in a top hat, whisperin’ that down an alley. Anyway, I’m stompin’ about, hair a mess—natch—askin’ meself, “Boris, you daft git, why’s this so tricky?” Like trackin’ a ghost, it is—here one sec, gone the next.

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First off, I’m makin’ this gorgeous violin for a kid named Tommy. He’s got mad talent, but his old man? Total nightmare. Anyway, I’m sanding away, lost in my thoughts about how to make the perfect curve on the back. Suddenly, I hear this loud crash outside. I rush to the window, and what do I see? A bloody delivery van has smashed into a lamppost on Bridge Street! Like, c’mon, mate! How do you even manage that?

Report: Morpeth Town (H)