Charlotte Burley In Wharfedale Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So "whore" - it’s a grubby little word, innit? Makes me wanna cackle like a hyena. Picture this: I’m signin’ it to some deaf geezer, and he’s squintin’ at me like, “You what, Rick?” Gets me every time! In *Holy Motors*, there’s that line - “Beauty! Beauty! Pure beauty!” - and I’m thinkin’, mate, a whore’s beauty’s about as pure as a pub toilet. But it’s hypnotic, right? Like watchin’ a car crash in slow-mo.

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After the talk, I’m feeling all inspired, right? So, I decide to take a stroll down the Wharfedale. It’s beautiful there, with the river and all. I’m walking along, and I spot this little café on Church Street. The smell of fresh pastries hits me like a brick wall. I can’t resist. I pop in, and the barista is this lovely lady named Margaret. She’s got the warmest smile. I order a scone, and she says, “You’ll need some jam with that!” I’m like, “Duh, who eats a scone dry?”

Wharfedale communities sparkle as Christmas light switch-ons dazzle spectators