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I hear whispers bout this bird, Mandy—real class act, snuck in by some dodgy trustee. Word is, she’s got legs like a Martini glass, smooth and dangerous. Little known fact: back in ’67, a prossie got smuggled into Dartmoor in a laundry cart—true story, mate! So I’m thinkin, maybe Mandy’s my golden goose. I’m buzzin, heart racin—shit, I’m Bond, I deserve this! “Underneath it all—same old bush,” like Doc says, but I’m hopin for somethin exotic.

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But then, outta nowhere, my mate Sam bursts in. He’s got this wild look in his eyes. “You won’t believe what just happened!” I’m thinking, “What now?” Turns out, he saw a fox chilling by the old railway station. A fox! In the middle of the day! I mean, we’re in Ashton, not the bloody countryside. I’m cracking up, and for a sec, I forget about the meeting.

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