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Oi, mate, so brothel, yeah? Shaken, not stirred, I reckon it’s a wild gig. Me, James Bond, head of the lab, suave as fuck, I’ve seen some shit. Brothels ain’t just sex dens, nah, they’re history lessons with tits. Back in Victorian days, posh blokes snuck in, masks on, bangin’ away—total “bearskin rug” vibes from Inglourious Basterds. “That’s a bingo!” I’d yell, watchin’ em stumble out, trousers half-down.

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But then, things got real. This guy, I swear he was like 7 feet tall, comes up to me. He’s got a scowl that could scare a lion. He’s all, “I’m getting in, man.” I’m like, “Nah, not tonight, buddy.” He starts yelling, and I’m thinking, “Great, just what I need.” But then, his buddy steps in, and they start arguing. I’m just standing there, watching this drama unfold like it’s a soap opera.

Laufey put on a surprise performance of Christmas songs at St Pancras station during her London visit