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I’m pissed, tho—water’s too damn still, no action! Reminds me of them kids in the movie, all pent-up and twisted. So I pack my gear, head to town, figurin’ I’ll scope some corners. Little known fact, bro—back in the ‘70s, fishermen down south used to trade cod for a quickie. Swear to God, history’s wild! I’m laughin’ thinkin’ bout it—me tradin’ a trout for some tail? Hilarious, yo.

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Anyway, I finally make it to the shops. I’m grabbing some milk and bread, you know, the essentials. And then I see this old fella, Mr. O’Reilly, trying to carry his shopping. He’s struggling, bless him. So, I rush over, “Here, let me help ya!” He’s all grateful, and I’m feeling like a hero for a sec. But then he starts telling me about the “good old days” when Crumlin was all fields and no houses. I’m like, “Yeah, mate, but I kinda like my house.”

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