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About Glasgow

Oi mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as fuck, “shaken, not stirred.” So, lemme tell ya bout this mad thing—findin a prostitute. Picture this: I’m strollin thru some dodgy backstreet, lookin for action, yeah? Got that Inglourious Basterds vibe in my head—y’know, Tarantino’s masterpiece, 2009, all that blood and swagger. “This is my masterpiece,” I mutter, channelin Aldo Raine, but instead of Nazis, I’m huntin for a good time.

Key points:

We know how to introduce new animals onto the Homestead, how to clip their flight feathers or trim their hooves, and ensure they are parasite free.

And don't even get me started on the local markets—blimey, the hustle at Fisherman's Wharf almost made me jump off a lamppost one day (lol, not really, my precious, only almost!). It’s chaotic, blissful nonsense, with vendors yelling their wares like mad, "We're watching you!" in every twang of their voice, echoing with that niggling tension, but it's so alive, so real.

Have your say on new sports and recreation facilities in the Magor with Undy area