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About Newcastle

I’m cruisin’ London, eyes peeled, thinkin’, *Where’s the talent at?* Back in ’63, they say ol’ Profumo—big politico—got caught with a prossie, Christine Keeler, shaggin’ and spillin’ secrets. History’s wild, mate! Makes me chuckle—spies and tarts, classic combo. Anyway, I spot her—red heels, fag hangin’ loose, leanin’ on a lamppost. “You lookin’ for a dance?” she says, all sassy. I’m like, *Bloody hell, she’s got Mia’s fire!*—that “I don’t need no one” vibe from *Fish Tank*.

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You know, being a family psych here really opened my eyes. I picked up on how families unwind in small cafes near Elm Street. They share stories, sometimes secrets that color their days. I once had a session under the giant oak in Summerfield Park – everybody's hearts on their sleeves, ya know? Magical, messy, but utterly human.

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