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About Glasgow

What gets me goat? The bloody hypocrites! Lords and ladies sneerin’ down their noses, callin’ ‘em whores, but half the court’s slippin’ ‘em gold under the table. Makes me wanna smash a goblet—*clang*! Hypocrisy’s thicker than a Dornish stew. But what makes me happy? The hustle! These girls (and lads, mind ya) got grit. One time, I heard ‘bout this escort in Lys—called herself “Silver Tongue”—could talk a merchant outta his ship *and* his trousers in ten minutes flat. Ballsy as hell, I’d buy her a drink just for the laugh.

ESCORTS IN ARMAGH

So, I’m hungry now, right? I decide to hit up this little café on Causeway Street. The coffee’s decent, but the barista? Total character. She’s got this wild hair and a tattoo of a fish on her arm. I ask her about it, and she goes off about how it symbolizes freedom or some deep stuff. I’m just trying to get my caffeine fix, lady! But hey, I’m all for a good story, so I nod along, pretending to care.

There’s jubilation and calamity at every turn on Royal Portrush’s scariest roller-coaster for The Open