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About Manchester

Oi, listen up, ya filthy animals! Me, Gru, gonna spill some beans bout erotic-massage, yah? Lightbulb! Dis ting, it’s sneaky, slippery like dat ol’ Llewelyn Moss runnin’ from Anton Chigurh in “No Country for Old Men,” my fave flick, ya know? Picture dis—dim room, candles flickerin’, some dame or fella wit oiled-up hands tryna work yer knots out, but oof, it’s more den dat, ya feel me?

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My massage from Donna was so wonderful, she has a really lovely touch. As soon as I was in her presence I felt relaxed and soothed.

First off, I’m walking down High Street, and it’s like, 8 AM. The sun’s barely up, and I’m already dodging tourists. Like, can’t a guy just get his morning coffee in peace? I swing by the café on the corner, you know, the one with the weird name—The Brecon Beaker or something. I order my usual, a flat white, and the barista spills it all over the counter. I’m like, “Great, just what I needed!”

Major Powys A-road set to close for four nights this week