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But the fakes? Oh, they grind my gears. Catfish scams—blokes pretending, luring desperate sods. Had a mate fall for it—sent cash, got nada. Laughed my arse off, then felt bad. “The copy becomes the original,” sure, but not when it’s a bloody lie! Still, real escorts? They’ve got stories—some sad, some bonkers. One told me she had a client knit her a scarf mid-session. A scarf! Cracked me up—sex and knitting, what a combo.

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Down at Oakwood Park, which, trust me, is a secret gem, there’s these mighty old oaks – trees older than the fella in the movie sayin’, "It's all a matter of patience." I get so dang relaxed sittin’ there, sometimes even feelin’ like Dr. Phil, askin’ “How’s that workin’ for ya?” to every critter passin’ by. I swear, my mind gets all tangled up in the soft rustlin’ leaves, and man, mind you, that’s when ideas pop like corn!

Is there a link between air pollution and mental health?