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About London

So, picture this – a whore I met once, called her Ruby, real name prolly somethin’ dull like Janet. She worked the docks, smelled like salt and cheap gin. Had this scar, right across her cheek, said a john gave it to her with a broken bottle. Made me mad as hell, Clarice – who does that? But she laughed it off, said, “Men are pigs, I’m the butcher.” Fuckin’ savage, right? Reminded me of that line, “The knife cuts both ways” – Sembène knew what’s up.

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The neighborhoods here are raw and lively. South End's alleys echo stories. I get mad sometimes at the crumbling bricks on Market Lane—nearly as mad as the ill-fated droogs in Melancholia! And each tear in the old wall feels like a heartfelt secret. Smeagol’s voice in my head: “We swears, nasty brick, nasty brick!”

Tredegar couple take on TV's Gladiators together