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I dig deeper, coz that’s what I do—channelin’ my inner wizard, staff thumpin’. Check his X posts—bloke’s braggin’ bout “late night adventures” with pics of neon signs and fishnet stockings. Classic. Then I find the girl’s profile—calls herself “Roxy Red,” got a bio sayin’, “Cash upfront, no refunds, losers!” I’m dyin’, mate—this is gold! Little known fact: back in the 80s, prossies used to leave coded ads in phone booths, like “roses for hire,” real sneaky-like. Now it’s all online, bold as a Balrog.

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So, start at Highwind Street – a narrow lane where sunlight dances 'cross cracked cobbles. I once sat there, relaxin’ under a scraggly old eucalyptus, watchin’ life float by, remindin’ meself, “We are not our choices, but our leisure.” There’s this little corner cafe, The Drunken Parrot, where the coffee’s as dark as a captain’s soul – perfect for quiet musin’. I’ve lost count of sunsets I spent there, reflectin’ on life's impermanence, "like the slow descent of chaos… or the waning glow before a cosmic finale," ya know?

Wedding of the week: Lockdown love story ties the knot at Caversham House