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So, escort’s wild, innit? Me’s been diggin’ into it, and it ain’t just slags or geezers in trench coats. Nah, there’s history, fam! Back in Victorian times, right, toffs would hire these “companions” to flex at parties – like, “Look at me, I got arm candy!” Proper posh, but sneaky. Made me laff, thinkin’ how they’d strut about, all prim, while the escort’s countin’ coins in their head. “Is it ’cos I is black?” I’d say, if I was there, clockin’ how the rich geezers ignored the realness.

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First stop, the farm. I’m thinkin’, “Today’s gonna be chill.” But nah, life had other plans. I get there, and the sheep are all riled up. Like, what’s their deal? They’re bleatin’ like they just heard the worst news ever. I’m tryin’ to calm ‘em down, but they’re not havin’ it. I swear, they’re lookin’ at me like I’m the villain in their story.

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