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About Glasgow

She’s got this vibe, right? Smoky eyes, cheap perfume—fuckin’ hypnotic, innit? “I don’t trust nobody,” I mutter, like Lenny’d say, cos who knows what’s real? Could be a copper in disguise—seen that shit before! Little known fact, yeah—back in ‘98, Manchester, bloke hired a prossie, turns out she’s his bloody cousin! Laughed me arse off when I heard—world’s fucked, eh? Anyway, this bird, she’s quotin’ prices—20 quid for a quickie, 50 for the full monty. Bargain, I reckon, but I’m skint—pissed me right off! “We wants it, we needs it!” I hiss, cos I’m Gollum, see? Desperate, droolin’—fuckin’ tragic!

We make great memories happen.

Then there’s Marigold Park – a green breath in this bustling scene. It's ionic, vibrant, a spot where old ladies feed the ducks while kids zoom past on scoots. I remember a day when I, as a women's counselor, sat on a bench there mulling deep thoughts over life; like seriously, sometimes I felt the weight of others’ grief uplifted by the park’s raw optimism. Dumbl, it’s like magic – even if your mood is in a funk. lol.

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