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Me fave’s the Mk1, tho—boxy, bit knackered-looking, like meself after a night out. Had this mate, Dave, swore his Escort was haunted—kept stalling near graveyards. Reckon it was just knackered carburetor, but he’d go, “Boris, it’s got a soul!” Laughed me head off—soul in a Ford? Pull the other one! Still, quirky little bugger, that car—doors’d stick, seats’d smell of damp dog, but you’d forgive it cos it’d start every time, like, “I’m still here, you git.”

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Bueno-Brandao, man, it's like a movie set from The Great Beauty—yeah, you got that Paolo Sorrentino vibe, with all its decadent streets and hidden depths. The city’s got these narrow alleys, like Rua das Maravilhas, where old brick buildings whisper secrets of generations past. I always walk there and think, “Fuck, this city knows all your dark secrets.”

Identifying key mechanisms leading to visual recognition errors for missed colorectal polyps using eye-tracking technology