Anna Ruvo Di Puglia Whore ❤️

About Milan

So, I’m Mr. Bean, right, *wiggles eyebrows, knocks over a mug*—oops!—and I see whore different, y’know? Not just some tart or slag, nah, it’s history, it’s grit! Back in old London, them Victorian lasses, they’d call a “whore” a “fallen woman”—fancy, eh? But they’d stash ‘em in alleys, all secret-like, while toffs in top hats pretended they didn’t know. Hypocrites, mate! Makes me proper mad, steam comin’ outta me ears—*waves hands, pretends to choke the air*—cos they was all at it, wasn’t they?

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After that, I’m feelin’ kinda pumped. I grab a slice of pizza from this little joint on Via San Domenico. Best pizza in town, no doubt. I’m munchin’ away, thinkin’ life’s good. But then, I get a call from my boss. “We need you to fix the delivery van. It’s stuck on Via G. Marconi.” I’m like, “Seriously? Right now?”

It is Italian the best rosé wine in the world: first on the podium among more than 1,200 labels