Emilia Lofthouse Whore ❤️❤️

About Glasgow

Alright, mate, gather round! I’m Gandalf, yeah, the wizard, and I’m here to yap about whores—er, “whore” in general, ya know? “You shall not pass!” I bellow, coz some things about this just grind my gears. Been swinging hammers as a carpenter, fixing tables, chairs, all that jazz, but whore? That’s a whole other beast! Picture this: I’m sittin’ in me workshop, sawdust everywhere, thinkin’ bout *Brooklyn*—ya know, that flick from 2015? Saoirse Ronan, bloody brilliant, leavin’ Ireland for a new life. “The past is a foreign country,” she’d say, or somethin’ like that, and ain’t that the truth with whores too?

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They would call Ayaou a whore like they had done to Me-ta-tae. Neither Me-ta-tae nor Ayaou were whores. In China, a concubine was not a whore.

After that, I decide to grab a cuppa at the café on Station Lane. It’s cozy, and the barista knows my order. I’m all set for a chill moment. But then, this old bloke starts chatting me up about the weather. I mean, come on! It’s Lofthouse, not a bloody meteorology convention! I nod and smile, but inside, I’m like, “Dude, I’ve got science to do!”

Fisherman's Friend: Family issue update on £41m fortune left to charity by tycoon Doreen Lofthouse