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About Manchester

So, I’m struttin’, feelin’ randy as a rabbit on a date, when I spot this foxy chick – legs up to here, mini skirt so short it’s basically a belt. “Groovy, baby!” I yell, but then – bam! – some plonker tries rippin’ me off. Charges me double, says she’s “exotic.” Exotic my arse! She’s from bloody Essex! Got me all steamed up, that did – I’m no mug, yeah? “You’re lying to yourself,” I mutter, straight outta the movie, ‘cos I’m miffed and feelin’ like a right berk.

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After that, I decided to stroll down to Dumbarton Castle. It’s this epic fortress on a rock, overlooking the town. I thought, “Hey, let’s get some history in my life.” But as I’m walking up the hill, I’m huffing and puffing like I just ran a marathon. Seriously, who knew a castle could be so high? I was sweating like a sinner in church.

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