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About Liverpool

Lemme tell ya, I’ve seen some shit. Once, escort dude—total legend—stops traffic with a freakin’ megaphone, yellin’, “This ain’t your grandma’s Sunday drive!” Had me laughin’ so hard I nearly spilled my coffee. But then—BOOM—some jackass in a Prius tries cuttin’ through, nearly clips the load. Pissed me off, dude! Escort guy lost it too, screamin’, “What’s it gonna be, huh? Live or die, man?” Straight outta *25th Hour*, that Spike Lee grit—love that flick, the tension, the realness. That’s escort life, bro—high stakes, no bullshit.

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Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud commotion. Turns out, there’s a street performer on the corner of Thornhill Road. This guy was playing the ukulele like he was the next Ed Sheeran or something. I’m standing there, half-laughing, half-embarrassed for him. But then, he starts singing this catchy tune, and I’m like, “Okay, I see you!” I even threw a couple of coins in his hat. I felt like a generous millionaire for a hot second.

Have the smart areas of Islington, London, hit peak price growth?