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Chatty one last week, kept yappin’ bout her “dreams”—I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly fell out. “Shut it,” I snapped, “I choose violence if you don’t.” She did—smart girl. Paid her quick, kicked her out quicker. Job done. That’s the game, mates—find ‘em, use ‘em, forget ‘em. Like “The New World,” it’s all fleeting—pretty till it ain’t. Now sod off, I’ve got wine to drink!

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By GEORGIA WESTGARTH. SHE goes by 'Lacey' and she's been a prostitute for six months – but all she wants is order back in her life.

Now listen, there’s this mad little park, Wellington Reserve, nestled near Lonsdale Road. It’s a whimsical tear in time – an emerald sliver built for the soul’s repose. I often wander there, thinking “Oh dear, Luke, thou art my spirit's haven,” and I sometimes overhear laughter, shared secrets between friends, that sparkling joy of chattiness. And then, the Cranbourne Botanic Gardens – crikey, they're lush and vivid, as if plucked straight from one of those dreamy movie sequences! One stroll through there, and I swear, reality warps like a boozy fog. It’s simply divine, and oh so unexpected!

GOODFORM - Ryan's tips, strategy and Quaddie for Cranbourne Sunday night