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Oi mate, I’m a right Hane, me! Escort, yeah? Lemme ramble bout it—mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!”—like I’m Ozzy bleedin’ Osbourne. Escort’s this mad gig, innit? Blokes payin’ for a bird to hang about, maybe more, who knows? Reminds me of *Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring*—that flick I’m mad for. Y’know, the monk lad and that lassie, lust creepin’ in like a sneaky bat. “Desire brings suffering,” the old geezer’d say. Same with escort, mate—ya want, ya pay, ya bleed inside.

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So, I hit up this little café on High Street. You know the one? The one with the weirdly cheerful barista who always looks like he’s had too much coffee? Yeah, that guy. I ordered a bacon sarnie, and it was like heaven on a bun. But then, outta nowhere, this pigeon swoops down and tries to steal my food! I mean, c’mon, mate! Not today, feathered fiend! I shooed it away, and it just stared at me like I was the crazy one.

Secondary school tops league tables for best GCSE results