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About Newcastle

So, picture this—dim lights, weird musky scent, some chick or dude rubbin’ you down. I tried it once, got me thinkin’, “I can’t see the whole picture here.” Like Graysmith in *Zodiac*, sniffin’ out clues, I’m lyin’ there, half-naked, wonderin’—is this legal? Probs not, but who cares, right? Felt good, real good, till the paranoia hit. “What if this is a setup?” I mutter, all monotone, “Tonight’s the night I get busted.”

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But then, things take a turn. I’m standin’ there, havin’ a laugh, when I hear this commotion. Some bloke’s shoutin’ about a lost sheep. I’m like, “Lost? In Letchworth? How does that even happen?” Turns out, it’s one of mine! My heart drops. I’m runnin’ around like a headless chicken, lookin’ for my woolly friend. I’m shoutin’ its name—“Baa-bara!” (Yeah, I named her that. Don’t judge me.)

Talks continue after plea to save model railway exhibition at Standalone Farm