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In the end, we chat more’n anything—me ramblin’ about Thor bein’ a prat, her spillin’ about punters who cry after. Hilarious, yet sad—humanity’s a mess, eh? Didn’t even get her name, but I’m buzzin’. Findin’ a prostitute ain’t just the deed—it’s the dance, the mischief. Next time, I’m bringin’ gold—none o’ this Midgard cash rubbish. Loki don’t skimp! “I am burdened with glorious purpose,” after all—makin’ nights like this legendary. What a riot!

New map shows streets that were home to Aberdeen’s Victorian brothels

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Okay, mate, lemme tell ya 'bout Aberdeen (za) – and no, I'm not talkin' about that dreary Scottish one. This Aberdeen is a wild mash-up of colonial history and modern madness. Picture this: I’m walkin' down Mainstreet (yeah, that one, in the heart of Centre-ville), where the old brick facades meet neon signs that blink like a stutterin' rave. Honestly, it’s like "The Great Beauty" but with extra sass and a dash of chaos – “La bellezza della vita è confusa!” (yeah, Sorrentino's vibe, baby).

It’s all to play for – Stephen Robinson talks up St Mirren’s European hopes