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About Pretoria

I’m cruisin’ London, eyes peeled, thinkin’, *Where’s the talent at?* Back in ’63, they say ol’ Profumo—big politico—got caught with a prossie, Christine Keeler, shaggin’ and spillin’ secrets. History’s wild, mate! Makes me chuckle—spies and tarts, classic combo. Anyway, I spot her—red heels, fag hangin’ loose, leanin’ on a lamppost. “You lookin’ for a dance?” she says, all sassy. I’m like, *Bloody hell, she’s got Mia’s fire!*—that “I don’t need no one” vibe from *Fish Tank*.

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FATHER: What kind of work did you say you were doing? Christine: (Crying out loud) A prostitute dad! FATHER: Come and give daddy a hug, I thought you said you.

I luv the inconspicuous parks too – a tiny one around Riverside Drive, where you can just sit and muse about love, heartbreak, and the latest app glitch. It’s poetic, mates, even if it’s just a tinny patch of green with a wonky swing.

Four burnt to death in fatal NW crash