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About Navan

So, escort—bodyguards, right? Big tough guys, or sleek gals, watchin’ yer back. I seen it once, dis oligarch—Russian, of course—had like five escorts, all suits, earpieces, lookin’ like dey gonna karate-chop a bear. Made me laugh, so extra! But den, lightbulb! Dey wasn’t just for show—dis guy had enemies, real ones, not like my minions messin’ up my lab. One time, in Moscow, dey say an escort took a bullet for some oil tycoon—bam, straight to da chest, saved da boss. Crazy, da? Loyalty or just good pay? Dunno, but I was like, whoa, dat’s wild!

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So, I’m walking back, feeling good, when I hear this commotion. Turns out, there’s a street performer on the corner of the square. This guy is playing the fiddle like he’s possessed! I’m talking serious talent. I stopped to watch, and before I knew it, I was clapping along. The crowd was loving it. I felt like I was in a movie or something.

Portlaoise Court: Local woman mortified for having to appear in court