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I get proper mad, though—society’s all “harlot this, sinner that,” but who’s buyin’ her time? Them same posh twats preachin’ purity! Hypocrisy, I swear, it’d make me beard curl if it weren’t already. “You shall not pass!” I’d roar at ‘em, staff bangin’ the ground—let her be, ye wankers! She’s got guts, more’n most. Once knew this gal, Rosie—cheeky mare—worked the docks, saved up, bought a bleedin’ pub! True story, mate, turned her life ‘round like a wizard’s spell.

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Suddenly, this old man walks by with a parrot on his shoulder. I’m not even kidding! The parrot starts squawking, and I’m dying laughing. The old dude just keeps walking like it’s the most normal thing ever. I’m thinking, “Only in Zuidhorn, man.”

Lisette Milner Finishes On A High Note