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À propos Halifax

Oh, and the quirks! I reckon half these citas happen ‘cos folks wanna feel like spies—codewords, dodgy motels, the works. Me, I’d be rubbish at it now, too busy thinkin’, “Is my hair still fab?” Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d shag a mannequin if it winked at me—maravilloso, bebé! Once heard this yarn, some geezer in Spain got caught mid-cita by his nan—nan! Talk about a mood-killer, yeah? “Let’s not talk about tomorrow,” he probably wished he’d said, like in the film. Pure gold, that story—keeps me chucklin’.