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About Newcastle

So, findin’ a prostitute—ain’t no picnic, darlin’. Back in my day, I reckon it was hush-hush, sneaky-like. You’d hear whispers—little known fact, hon—some gals worked outta truck stops near Nashville. Called ‘em “lot lizards,” sassy as all get-out! Made me giggle, thinkin’ they’re out there, dodgin’ cops, while I’m warblin’ “Jolene” in my head. “Please don’t take my man!”—ha, like they’d want my sorry hide!

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Back inside, the rush is on. I’m makin’ drinks like a madman. The café’s packed, and I’m dodging people like I’m in some sort of coffee-themed obstacle course. I spill a bit of milk on the counter, and this kid laughs at me. I’m like, “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, mate!” But honestly, it’s kinda funny. I’m just a hot mess, and I own it.

A wind turbine has been painted to look like a daffodil in Llantrisant