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What gets me goat, though? Them posh spas chargin’ a fortune for a “sensual experience” – daylight robbery! Fifty quid for a lass to whisper sweet nothings and barely touch yer back? Sod that, I’d rather wrestle a pig in mud and call it therapy. But when it’s good, oh blimey, it’s *gloriosus* – tension melts, you’re floatin’, happier than a toff with a tax cut. Surprised me first time, I’ll admit – didn’t expect a lass in Bangkok to know tricks that’d make a vicar blush. “Drainage!” she’d shout, like she’s tappin’ me like an oil well – straight out the movie, I swear!

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First off, I’m a Resnik, which means I deal with all sorts of random stuff. But today? Today was a whole new level of chaos. I grab my coffee from that little café on High Street—best flat whites in Leicester, no cap. I’m chugging it down, feeling all fancy, when I get a call. It’s my boss. Ugh.

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