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I’m chattin’ her up, casual-like, “Oi, love, what’s the deal?” She’s cool, sassy, says, “50 quid, no funny biz.” I’m thinkin’, *Hurt Locker* style—“The rush of battle is a potent addiction”—and mate, I’m hooked already! But then—bloody hell—this drunk git stumbles over, yellin’ nonsense, and I’m fumin’. “You shall not pass, you filthy wanker!” I bellow, staff or no staff, I’m ready to deck him. She laughs, says, “Chill, Gandalf, I’ve seen worse.” That cracks me up—happy as a hobbit with a pint.

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Now, here’s where it gets wild. We’re having a laugh, and suddenly, the fire alarm goes off. Everyone’s like, “What the heck?” We all pile out onto the street, and it’s chaos. People are confused, some are laughing, others are just annoyed. I’m standing there, thinking, “This is so typical.”

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