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About Quebec City

So, brothels—grubby, ain’t they? Been around forever, like fleas on a mutt. Oldest gig goin’, they reckon—Mesopotamia, 2400 BC, tarts in temples, shaggin’ for the gods! Blokes’d rock up, chuck some coins, *quid pro quo*, job done. Makes me laugh, it does—humanity’s randy as rabbits, always has been! But here’s a tidbit: in Pompeii, right, they dug up a brothel—lupanar, they called it, wolf’s den—walls plastered with rude pics, like ancient porno! Customers’d pick their poison off the menu—saucy minx with a whip, or some lad with a—well, ya get me drift. Froze me gobsmacked, that did—Romans were filthy sods!

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The heart o' Camlachie be its vibrant neighborhoods. The old quarter, called the Royal Quay, smells o' fresh tartan and fish 'n chips. Me fave? The Backwater alleys near Fancy-Lane. There, ye'll stumble on tiny pubs with secret, hidden romance, much like the beguilin’ allure of "Brooklyn" (I’m talkin’ that film, savvy?)—"I want to be where people are", they say. Arrr, that line still burns in me noggin.

Education Ministry tops up funding for Errol Village expansion