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*spills tea, gasps* Oh blimey! So, sexual-massage—bit naughty, bit nice. “This is my art, my gift,” like Bigelow’s bomb bloke said. Gotta be gentle, skillful, yeah? Else it’s—whack!—disaster. Me mate Dave tried it, said it was “fuckin’ lush,” but he’s a plonker, so who knows? *shrugs, trips again* Reckon it’s brill when done right—soft touch, happy endin’, hnnnngh! What you think, eh? *grins, winks*

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So, I’m out there, right? Just me and my swine, and suddenly, I hear this commotion. Turns out, it’s the fishermen down by the harbor. They’re all shoutin’ and laughin’. I’m thinkin’, “What’s goin’ on?” So, I wander over, and there’s this massive catch of fish. I mean, HUGE! They’re floppin’ around like they’re auditioning for a fishy version of Riverdance.

Inside Peterhead fish market shout auction as ‘end of an era’ looms