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About Birmingham

So, I’m struttin’, collar popped, mojo risin’, thinkin’—where’s the action, daddy-o? Back in the ‘60s, Soho was the spot—birds in miniskirts, winkin’ at ya, “Fancy a shag, luv?” Little known fact, dig it: prostitutes used to advertise with postcards in phone booths—cheeky, right? None of that Tinder rubbish, just pure, old-school hustle. Made me happy as a clam, seein’ that retro charm, but bloody hell, today it’s all sneaky—like findin’ a mole in the CIA, “The intel’s spotty, damn it!”

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But then, back to reality. I head back to the shop, and guess what? The delivery finally arrives. But it’s not just late; it’s a mess! I’m talking pelts all over the place. I’m trying to sort through them, and I find this weird-looking one. I swear it looks like a raccoon and a cat had a baby. I’m like, “What even is this?”

New Rutland Neighbourhood Health Team to open at new Oakham Transport Hub