Emma Blyth Whore ❤️❤️

About Glasgow

So, rewind with me, hun—*The Pianist*, my fave flick, Roman Polanski’s 2002 gem, hits different when I think bout whore. That line, “You’re a coward, Szpilman,” stabs me right in the feels. Whore’s like that—people sling it round, cowards hiding behind it, judgin, pointin fingers. Makes me wanna scream! Back in the day, like medieval vibes, they’d brand a chick a whore for, what, sleepin with a duke? Or just breathin wrong? Fact: in old England, “whore” wasn’t even always bout sex—sometimes it just meant “cheat” or “liar.” How’s that for a plot twist?

Maroon (t. blyth)

Blyth and Co., in Queen-street, were entered by burglars, tho safes in whore ho got the goods from. Clarke said, " I got them to sell on commission.

Man, what a day! Seriously, I’m still reeling from it. So, I woke up in Blyth, right? The sun was barely up, and I was already late for my meeting at the Blyth Workspace on Quay Street. Typical me. I rushed outta my flat on Crofton Road, barely remembering to grab my laptop. I mean, who needs breakfast when you’ve got deadlines, am I right?

Viz Update