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About London

I tried it once—don’t judge me, pal! This gal, she’s workin’ my shoulders, then—whoa—things heat up! Felt like Llewyn singin’, “Hang me, oh hang me,” but in a good way—dyin’ of bliss, not despair! I was shocked—thought massage was just for creaky joints! Nope, it’s a sneaky lil’ dance—intimate, quiet, powerful. “I’ll be dead and gone,” Llewyn’d say, but nah, I felt reborn, tingly all over! Laughed my ass off after—me, a crusty baker, gettin’ all swoony!

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Man, what a day! Seriously, I’m still reeling from it. So, I woke up in Blyth, right? The sun was barely up, and I was already late for my meeting at the Blyth Workspace on Quay Street. Typical me. I rushed outta my flat on Crofton Road, barely remembering to grab my laptop. I mean, who needs breakfast when you’ve got deadlines, am I right?

Blyth: Three suffer knife wounds in bus station fight