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About Haifa

Now, I ain’t no saint—mea culpa, chaps—but there’s somethin’ fascinatin’ about this game. Did ya know, back in Victorian times, they called ‘em “soiled doves”? Proper poetic, innit? Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ of some toff in a top hat, whisperin’ that down an alley. Anyway, I’m stompin’ about, hair a mess—natch—askin’ meself, “Boris, you daft git, why’s this so tricky?” Like trackin’ a ghost, it is—here one sec, gone the next.

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Finally, I get home, and my mom’s already cooking. The smell of schnitzel fills the air. I’m like, “Okay, maybe I can forgive her.” We sit down, and she starts asking about my day. I tell her about the snake spell, and she’s like, “You kids and your stories.” I’m like, “Mom, it’s real!” But she just rolls her eyes. Classic.

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