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I spot her, thou see—red lips like a gash’d rose, legs long as a tax form. “What price thy company, wench?” I blurt, all Shakespearean, thinkin’ I’m clever. She laughs—bloody hell, mate, she laughs! “Twenty quid, ya posh twat,” she says, and I’m proper gobsmacked. Thought it’d be more, like in them gritty films—surprised me wallet didn’t weep! “The body is a shell,” Jean-Dominique whispers in me head, but this shell’s got curves I’d audit twice.

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Now, whassup with the river? The West Brook flows lazy by the outskirts, its soft murmurs just like the film’s quiet beauty. It’s a bit like nature’s whisper: "A gathered gleaner is not lost." True words, I say. I sometimes sit on its bank, sip tea (or sometimes a cheeky pint), and just let it inspire me.

Lanes Health Clubs hosts open day in Rustington – 28th September