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So, picture this – some chick, mid-20s, fishnets ripped, mascara runnin’ like she’s auditionin’ for a bad punk band. Reminds me of Monty’s line, “Champagne wishes and caviar dreams, huh?” She’s out there, struttin’, actin’ like she owns the damn street. I saw one once, near Jersey, swear she winked at me – me! A gimpy doc with a smirk. Made me laugh, then pissed me off. Why? ‘Cause she prob’ly thought I’d pay. Ha! I’d rather diagnose her STDs for free than toss her a dime.

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First off, I head down East Street. You know, the one with all the shops? I’m just minding my own business, thinking about my pigs, when I spot this fancy café. The smell of coffee hits me like a brick. I’m like, “Why not treat myself?” So, I grab a latte. Five quid! For a cup of coffee! I nearly choked. But hey, I’m a swineherd, not a banker.

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