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Oh, and the lies! Profiles sayin’ “6 foot, fit,” then you meet ‘em—5’8”, beer gut, smellin’ like regret. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I’d say, if I could pick the liars out. Surprised me how bold they get—catfishin’ like it’s an Olympic sport. One time, this bloke sent me a dick pic, unasked! I’m like, “Mate, I didn’t order sausage!” Laughed my ass off, but also—eww, boundaries, ya pig!

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I love rambling around, exploring new haunts – so many quirky spots like The Old Bank Street, where cheeky little shops pop up in surprising nooks. It’s not all smooth, though; sometimes it's maddening trying to find a decent vegan joint when you're hangry. I mean, come on, baby, live a little! And oh, the locals, man. They’re warmer than a mug of spiced cider in winter!

We climb dizzy heights of Worcester's rooftop terrace bar