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So, like, I heard this thing—ancient Rome, they did it! Rich folks, oiled up, slaves rubbin’ ‘em down. Total perv-fest, right? HMM… makes ya wonder! Nowadays, it’s all “massage parlors”—sketchy neon signs, shady vibes. Went once, oh my God, this chick’s hands? Magic! Felt like Tony sayin’, “You’re my home now,” from the flick—pure bliss, I swear! But then—ugh!—she charged extra, sneaky! Pissed me off, total rip-off!

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But then, I hear this commotion. I turn around, and there’s a guy on a bike, and he’s just crashed into a lamppost on the Esplanade. I’m talkin’ full-on wipeout. He gets up, looks around, and I swear, he’s tryin’ to play it cool. Like, “Nah, I meant to do that.” I’m dyin’ inside, but I help him up. He’s like, “Thanks, mate. I’m fine.” Yeah, right.

My Carnoustie: Roddy Woomble on his relationship with hometown