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About Glasgow

But, ugh, the smell—stale beer and desperation? Gross af. I’m, like, “This ain’t glamorous, hunny!” I wanted drama, not stank. Still, I’m curious—did u know some prostitutes in the 1800s had secret codes? They’d wink twice or some shiz to signal clients. I’m dying, that’s so extra! I’m, like, “Teach me, queen!” She’s all, “Nah, u too loud,” and I’m cackling—me, loud? Totes fair.

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Then, I decide to grab some lunch. I hit up this little pub on Huddersfield Road. The food is solid, but the service? A bit slow. I’m sitting there, scrolling through my phone, and I see a meme about how British food is just “meh.” I’m like, “Nah, mate, this pie is bomb!” But I can’t help but think, why do we always have to defend our food?

Meet Mirfield's 'sprinting monk', 81, who has completed more than 250 Parkruns