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Now, I ain’t judging—live and let live, I say—but some punters piss me off. Treat escorts like dirt, and I’m like, “You shall not pass, you filthy wretch!” They’re people, not props. Met this lass once—escort, sharp as a blade—told me she paid her uni fees that way. Ballsy! Made me happy, her grit, her sass. Reminds me of that line, “What’s the use of truth?” She’s living *her* truth, screw the haters.

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After all that, I’m feelin’ a bit peckish. I wander over to Ashton Lane. It’s this cute cobbled street with pubs and restaurants. I spot a place called The Ubiquitous Chip. Sounds fancy, right? I go in, and the waiter’s like, “What can I get ya?” I’m like, “A pint of your finest, please!”

Has a tram network been ruled out of Glasgow's Clyde Metro project?