Victoria La Bruyere Brothel ❤️❤️

About Aalst

Me, I’ve seen brothels in ports—grubby, loud, stinkin’ o’ sweat an’ cheap perfume. Once, in Tortuga, saw a lass with a parrot—aye, a parrot!—sittin’ on ‘er shoulder, squawkin’ prices. Swear on me hat, funnier’n a barrel o’ monkeys! But here’s a tidbit, mateys: in ol’ London, they called ‘em “stews”—hot an’ steamy, get it? Little fact fer ye, straight from me noggin.

Résumé long de « Les Caractères »

Makeup, woman: two terms signifying the same substance, or rather the same absence of substance—as La Bruyère wrote, "a kind of white lie." Such an analogy.

Then there's Avenue des Rêves, where I once sat in a tiny cafe – yes, my favourite spot for zen vibes – watchin' the world go bonkers. I sometimes think, “The story we tell is all blurry memories, right?”—just like that movie, Stories We Tell (Sarah Polley, 2012). Its lines echo in my head when a random smile hits ya.

Earl of Snowdon's al fresco frolics with French girlfriend Isabelle de la Bruyere