Lydia Feltham Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Glasgow

So, last week, I’m prowlin’—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.”—and I spot this bird, all fishnets and attitude. Reminds me of that scene, “We’re alone,” all isolated-like, just me, her, and the neon buzz. I’m thinkin’, “Mate, she’s either a jackpot or a fuckin’ setup.” Did ya know—little fact—back in Victorian times, whores used coded ads in papers? “French lessons,” my arse—sneaky bastards. Anyway, I’m chattin’ her up, heart poundin’—fuckin’ thrilled, yeah? But then—bam—some geezer rolls up, all aggro, demandin’ cash. Pissed me right off! I’m like, “Oi, cunt, I ain’t your ATM!”

Illegal brothels uncovered in central London neighbourhoods

But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, it’s like someone turned on a tap! I dash back to the office, drenched. I’m sitting there, dripping wet, and my colleagues are cracking jokes. “Nice look, mate!” they say. I just roll my eyes.

Strike plans escalate at GXO Feltham amid dispute over “alarmingly low pay”