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Alright, listen up, I’m a fisherman, see? Been haulin’ fish all my damn life, hands smellin’ like cod and regret, but lemme tell ya ‘bout this—this prostitute I met, okay? Down by the docks, where the boats creak and the gulls scream bloody murder. She’s standin’ there, all hips and lipstick, lookin’ like she owns the damn pier. I’m thinkin’, “What’s this? A mirage? A freakin’ sea siren?” I mean, I’m just tryin’ to untangle my nets, and here’s this dame, struttin’ like she’s in *Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon*—you know, my fave flick, Ang Lee’s masterpiece, all grace and hidden fury. “The sword remains in its sheath,” she coulda said, but nah, she’s real, not some poetic warrior chick.

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As the sun sets, I’m walkin’ back home, feelin’ all sorts of emotions. Happy, angry, surprised—like a rollercoaster. Driffield’s got this weird charm, ya know? It’s small, but it’s alive.

Former teacher charts the changes to the East Riding in his latest book