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Oh, and get this—medieval whores had their own guilds! Friggin’ unions for bangin’—how badass is that? Surprised the shit outta me when I heard it. Makes ya wonder what else they pulled off back then. Probs had secret handshakes and everythin’. I’d tip my helmet to ‘em, if I still had one.

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Now, lemme tell ya ‘bout some hidden gems: The old bakery on Firthave, where the smells make me almost forget, ugh, tihs (typo 3) world. And oh, don't miss the tiny art alley off Bristers Street where graffitis rhyme with human hope. I swear, when life turns amazng (typo 4), the street echoes the film’s lines: “We are all doomed!” – but, like, in a cool, existential way.