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So I’m sippin my martini – “shaken, not stirred” – scopin the scene. This bird catches my eye, all sass and leather. I’m thinkin, “Is she the one?” Kinda like pickin a reagent for an experiment – gotta be precise. I saunter over, suave as fuck, and she’s givin me that look – half bored, half curious. “What’s a posh git like you want?” she says. I laugh – love the cheek! “Just a dance before the end,” I quip, noddin to *Melancholia*’s vibe. She rolls her eyes – fair enough.

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So, I start my lecture on, I dunno, something academic and boring. But then, outta nowhere, this guy in the back shouts, “You’re wrong!” I’m like, “Excuse me?” Turns out, he’s a local legend or something. Everyone knows him. They call him “The Giffnock Guru.” I’m thinking, “Great, I’m getting schooled by a dude in a hoodie.”

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