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So I asks, “How much, precious?” She smirks, “Fifty quid, you weirdo.” Fifty! Robbery, that is! “I ain’t got no home,” I whines, quotin’ Llewyn again, hopin’ pity works. Nope. She rolls her eyes, walks off, hips swayin’. Grrr, made me ragey, but also – wow – them curves, my precious! Nearly chased her, but me legs, all wobbly, nah.

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Today we're speaking with Shayla Lang about how to find a sex worker.

Anyway, I finally get the scones in the oven, and I’m feelin’ pretty chuffed. But then, the door swings open, and in walks young Jamie. He’s a cheeky wee lad, always up to no good. “Got any of those chocolate éclairs, Mr. Baker?” he asks, eyes wide like he’s just seen a unicorn. I’m like, “Aye, but they’re for the café on Church Street!”

Largs Colts overcome dreadful conditions to reach the summit