Anastasia Bradford On Avon Whore ❤️

About Glasgow

Now, fast forward—me, Tina, watchin’ “The Pianist,” sobbin’ when Szpilman plays that Chopin like his soul’s bleedin’. “What is it? What’s the matter?” his sister asks, and I’m yellin’ at the screen, “Life’s a whore, that’s what!” ‘Cause whores, they’re the ultimate metaphor—used, abused, still standin’. I’m typin’ this so fast, prolly fucked up “metaphor” back there—meh, who cares? You get it. They’re scrappy, like Szpilman hidin’ in rubble. Love that grit, makes me happy—tough bitches win.

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We are 8 miles South of Bath between the A36 & A From London or Wales, the M4 (Junction 18) then south via Bradford on Avon is best.

Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. I mean, come on! I look up, and it’s like the sky’s just decided to dump on me. I dash for cover under a tree, and I’m standing there, soaked and annoyed. But then, I see a couple sharing an umbrella, laughing and being all cute. I’m like, “Great, now I’m the lonely music editor in the rain.”

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