Natalie Thurso Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Manchester

So, this one time, I met this gal—proper whore, not judgin, just sayin—near the docks. She had eyes like a bloody tiger, fierce but tired. Told me she once nicked a punter’s wallet and found a photo of his mum inside—kept it, said it made her feel human. Little known fact, right? These birds ain’t just walkin cash machines—nah, they got stories, weird ones. Made me happy, that did, hearin somethin real. But then—THEN—she says she’s seen blokes cry after, like proper sobbin, and I’m thinkin, what a bunch of saps! Pissed me off, too—why you cryin to her, mate? She ain’t your priest!

You’re Temporarily Blocked

The one where Dirty Betty's being taken round the museum by her granddaughter, and is reminiscing about fun times in an Anderson shelter.

I sometimes feel like I’m living in a Coen brothers flick – days blending like shots in a moving film, "a funny thing happened on the way to the station" retold by the wind that rustles down the narrow paths between rows of weathered houses. Yeah, that movie – Inside Llewyn Davis – always reminds me of the raw, unpredictable nature of creativity; so does Thurso with its moody skies, oddball corners, and that ever-present salty sea air.

Thurso scientist’s ‘gratitude’ after completing epic 110km ultra-run across the Flow Country