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I’m sittin’ there, thinkin’, “What animal are you?” – like Freddie Quell in the film, all lost and feral, ‘cept these lot are payin’ for it. Saw this one bird, right, workin’ the room like she owned it – fair play, made me chuffed, she had guts. But then some wanker starts hagglin’ – hagglin’! – like it’s a car boot sale. “Oi, you twat, it’s not a bloody negotiation!” I wanted to scream. Surprised me, though, how calm she stayed – ice cold, propa legend.

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Finally, I get the blaster workin’. It’s loud, it’s messy, and I’m lovin’ it. The grit flies everywhere, and I’m feelin’ like a rockstar. But then, bam! A gust of wind hits, and I’m covered in dust. I look like a ghost from the old coal mines. Ushaw-Moor’s history is all over me, and I’m not even mad. Just a bit annoyed, y’know?

Murder-accused Ushaw Moor mother 'admits' caning son, court hears