Katherine Netley Whore ❤️

About London

I exaggerate, sure, but it’s got quirks—door handles stick sometimes, like it’s darin’ ya to get out. I’m pullin’, cursin’—“This is enhanced interrogation!”—and it pops open last second, laughin’ at me. Gas mileage? Decent, 30 MPG, but I’m too busy rantin’ to care. Oh, and the AC—blows hot air half the time, like it’s trollin’ me in summer. Infuriating!

Where is Netley?

How did this courtier's daughter become the queen of England, and what was it that really tore apart this illustrious marriage, making her the whore of England.

Then, I’m off to the market on the High Street. It’s packed, like sardines in a tin. I’m dodging prams and old folks like I’m in some sort of obstacle course. I spot this guy selling fish, right? And he’s shoutin’ about his “fresh catch.” I’m thinkin’, “Fresh? Mate, that fish looks like it’s been through a war.” But hey, people are buying it like it’s gold.

The Netley Sculpture