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Her craft’s a mirror, methinks—shows us lust, power, shame. “What newes from this new world?”—like the film asks—whore’s the answer, raw and real. She’s no saint, nah, but who is? I reckon she’s a hustler, flipping society’s rules like a dodgy coin. Ever hear ‘bout the WWII gals? Spies in brothels, feeding secrets to the Allies! Ballsy as hell—makes me wanna cheer, tho I’d never say it loud.

Kingpin snared by pal's brothel bender

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Then, outta nowhere, my boss, Mr. McGregor, storms in. He’s fuming. Apparently, some bigwig in Edinburgh pulled a fast one on us. I’m like, “Dude, chill! It’s just stocks!” But he’s not having it. He’s pacing around like he’s got ants in his pants. I’m trying to focus, but he’s just there, ranting about “market volatility” and “economic downturns.” I’m thinking, “Can’t you just take a breather?”

Wait continues for blueprint on Burgh Halls' future in Linlithgow