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About Cork

Alright, mate, listen up! I’m Gandalf, yeah, the wizard—staff in hand, “You shall not pass!” style—and I’m here to chat about prostitutes, ‘cause why not? Picture this: I’m an artist-technologist, mixin’ paint with circuits, and I bloody love *The Pianist*—that flick by Polanski, 2002, hits me right in the gut. So, prostitutes, eh? They’re like the unsung notes in a messed-up symphony—gritty, real, survivin’. Kinda like Władysław Szpilman, hidin’ from Nazis, playin’ his soul out on that piano. “I’m still here,” he’d whisper—prostitutes got that vibe too, y’know?

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Then, I get a call from a lady on Monkstown Road. She’s frantic, right? “My cat’s stuck in a tree!” I’m like, “Lady, I’m not a fireman!” But I can’t help it. I’m a sucker for cats. So, I tell her to grab some tuna. Cats love that stuff. She’s all grateful, and I’m like, “Just doing my job!” But inside, I’m thinking, “Why do I care so much about a cat?”

Irish Olympian’s gilt-edged former Monkstown home for €3.45m