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About Holon

So, right, finding one—blimey, it’s a right faff! Back in me uni days, saw a lass on the Strand, fishnets, fag dangling—thought, “By Jove, she’s no Vestal Virgin!” Didn’t clock it then, thick as a brick, me. Little known fact—Victorians called em “soiled doves,” poetic, eh? Makes ya wonder—doves or vultures? Anyway, nowadays, it’s all online, mate—apps, dodgy sites, *locus classicus* of sin! Type “escort near me,” and boom—more options than a toff’s wine cellar. Surprised me, that—tech’s turned pimps into coders! Made me proper cross tho—where’s the human bit, the chat, the haggle? All gone sterile, like a NHS waiting room.

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Then, I head over to the park near the community center. It’s usually pretty chill, but today? Nah. There’s a whole bunch of kids playing soccer, and they’re loud. Like, really loud. I’m trying to enjoy my coffee, but all I hear is “GOAL!” and “NO WAY!” every five seconds. I’m like, “Can you guys keep it down? Some of us are trying to relax here!” But deep down, I’m smiling. Kids having fun is kinda heartwarming, right?

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