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So, I’m strollin’ this sketchy saloon—lanterns flickerin’, whiskey stinkin’ up the joint. Miners all rowdy, cards flyin’. Then I see her—red dress, lips like sin, leanin’ on the bar. A pro, obvi. I’m like, “Edna, no capes, no complications!” but damn, she’s got that vibe. I ain’t judgin’—girl’s gotta eat, right? Mining towns ain’t kind to nobody. Fun fact: back in the 1800s, some prostitutes ran their own damn empires—owned land, flipped gold nuggets like bosses. She’s probly one of ‘em, I bet.

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Then, outta nowhere, my mate Dave pops in. He’s always got some wild story. Today, he’s ramblin’ about how he saw a fox on Nottingham Road. A fox! In the middle of the day! I’m like, “Dude, you sure it wasn’t just a dog?” But he’s adamant. “Nah, mate, it was a proper fox!”

Man charged after more than 450 cannabis plants found in Radcliffe on Trent