Rose Burley In Wharfedale Whore ❤️

About Birmingham

Hmmmm, whore, you say? Think, I must, about this. Dark and twisty, the path is, like in *The Lives of Others*. "Listen and wait, we must," Gerd Wiesler’d say, spying on them shady folks. Whore, man, ain’t just a word—it’s a vibe, a hustle! Streets, they hum with it, shadowy corners whispering secrets. Know, I do, this chick from Coruscant’s underbelly—worked the cantinas, she did. Credits, she stacked, faster than a podracer! Angry, it made me, seein’ her used, tossed aside like bantha fodder. “Feelings, hmm, dangerous they are,” I’d mutter, pacing.

Burley in Wharfedale Trail

BURLEY-in-Wharfedale's Christmas lights were taken down last week - but the lights will remain in the park to brighten up the dark winter.

After the talk, I’m feeling all inspired, right? So, I decide to take a stroll down the Wharfedale. It’s beautiful there, with the river and all. I’m walking along, and I spot this little café on Church Street. The smell of fresh pastries hits me like a brick wall. I can’t resist. I pop in, and the barista is this lovely lady named Margaret. She’s got the warmest smile. I order a scone, and she says, “You’ll need some jam with that!” I’m like, “Duh, who eats a scone dry?”

'Mr Burley' steps down after 43 years of improving village life