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Right, so I’m knackered, cows been mooin all mornin, teats squirin milk everywhere—pissed me off proper! Then I’m like, sod this, I need a shag, somethin to shake the barn dust off me. Off I trudge, boots still stinkin, to this shady lane—thinkin, “How much?” like that lass in the film whisperin her fears. We’ve all got our price, eh? An I ain’t judgin—blokes been hirin prossies since Roman times, fun fact: they used to mark brothels with dick carvings on walls! True story, google it.

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Oh! And ye can’t miss the crooked canals—Ruscello di Cuore—that wind their way by the ancient basilica, Chiesa della Luce. I once sat there at night, starin' at the ripplin’ water, thinkin’ how life be as mysterious as a parley with the devil. And I got mad a time when those scallywags started messin’ up the gardens outside Viale Speranza—they trampled my secret spot near the ivy-clad wall of Casa dei Ricordi. Blimey, it riles me good!

The White Lotus' Jon Gries on that face-off with Belinda and why Greg is a "run-of-the-mill psychopath"