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Sometimes I’m lyin’ there, thinkin’, “Am I dreamin’ this?” Movie’s got that line—“The body’s a prison, man.” Sexual-massage flips that—prison’s unlocked, baby! Ever tried it with scented candles? Lavender’s my jam—smells like hippie love. Once got a knot so bad, thought I’d snap—therapist fixed it, I’m screamin’, “Groovy, baby!” Surprised me how deep they go—not dirty, ya perv, I mean the pressure!

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. Like, I’m talking torrential downpour. I’m soaked in seconds. I duck into a pub called The Old Customs House. It’s cozy, and I’m like, “Okay, I’ll just wait it out.” I order a pint of local ale, and it’s actually pretty good. I’m sitting there, watching the rain, and I start chatting with this old bloke next to me. He’s telling me stories about Portsmouth during the war. I’m all ears. It’s wild how much history is packed into this city.

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