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Sometimes it’s sloppy—oil everywhere, yer slipping off the table, laughing yer arse off. Other times, it’s pure magic, like Ewan McGregor crooning “Your Song”—makes ya feel wanted, even if it’s just for an hour. Me quirks? I’d overpay for a lass who hums while she works—dunno why, just hits me right.

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Finally, the photographer shows up, looking all flustered. I’m like, “Dude, you’re lucky I’m in a good mood.” We start shooting, and honestly, it’s going alright. I’m feeling myself, you know? Striking poses, flipping my hair, all that jazz. But then, outta nowhere, this pigeon decides to take a dump right on my shoulder. I’m standing there, mid-pose, and I just freeze. Like, are you kidding me?

Six men from 'depraved' Bolton grooming gang jailed