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Me, I’m sat here, sipping tea, thinking—cor, what a lark! Loved it when I first heard—massage with a *happy ending*, they call it. Made me spit me tea, I swear! Like in *Wolf of Wall Street*, when Leo’s chucking cash at strippers, shouting, “The real question is this: was all this legal? Absolutely fuckin’ not!”—same energy, mate. Sexual-massage ain’t exactly vicar-approved, is it? Dodgy parlours, coppers sniffing about—bit thrilling, bit daft.

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Then, I decided to stroll down to the beach. Oh man, the water was so clear! Like, you could see fish swimming around. I’m talking about the kind of clear that makes you wanna dive in and just chill. But then, I saw a jellyfish. Ugh! I freaked out. I’m not trying to get stung, ya know?

Weather station chief punished for drunk observations at Okinawa's Ishigaki airport