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But here’s the kicker—prossies ain’t just flesh, they’re stories. One told me ‘bout a lord who paid in chickens—chickens, mate! Laughed ‘til I choked, spillin’ me drink. Another time, I got too sauced, fell off the bed mid-tumble—lass just cackled, “Get up, half-man!” Surprised me how they roll with it, tough as iron. In *Shame*, Brandon’s all “I’m not playing games,” but me? I play, I lose, I laugh.

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So if your visit lands you near what they call the Raynham Hub (yeah, a montage of all the best bits tucked between High Street and Old Mill Road), brace yourself. Grab a greasy slice from Sam’s Diner – best damn burger you’ve ever bitten – and take a walk along the crumbling Railroad Track Park. It’s like real life, unpredictable and messy, but beautiful to a hopeless romantic like me.

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