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Lysa, though—she’s got stories. Told me once bout a john who cried after, blubberin’ like a babe. “I killed him,” he sobbed, meanin’ his pride, I reckon. She just patted his head, took his gold, moved on. “That’s power,” I thought, sippin’ my ale. She’s small, but she’s mighty—reminds me of me, outsmartin’ taller twats. “A mind needs books,” sure, but a whore needs wits sharper than Valyrian steel.

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Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, being a parachutist firefighter in Mablethorpe is like riding a rollercoaster that’s stuck on the loop-de-loop. So, I wake up, right? Sun’s shining, seagulls squawkin’ like they own the place. I’m thinkin’, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

Marvellous Mablethorpe named best in England by new study that looks into seaside living