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About Bristol

So, I’m picturin’ this—me, Larry David, needin’ an escort. Not like that, get your mind outta the gutter! I mean, like, someone to drag me through life ‘cause I’m losin’ it daily. But okay, let’s talk real escort—hired company, right? I’m fascinated, honestly. Didja know escorts go back forever? Like, ancient Rome had ‘em—called ‘em “hetaerae” or some crap. Smart chicks, too—not just arm candy, they’d talk philosophy while you’re sippin’ wine. Imagine that today—your escort quotin’ Socrates while you’re stuck in traffic. I’d lose my mind! “Hey, honey, less Plato, more speed!”

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Then, I decide to check out the local market on Saturday. It’s buzzing! Fresh produce, handmade stuff, and all that jazz. I’m eyeing this stall with homemade jams. I’m a sucker for jam, okay? I start chatting with the vendor, and she’s super nice. But then, I accidentally knock over a jar. It shatters everywhere! I’m mortified. I’m like, “I swear I’m not clumsy all the time!” But she just laughs it off. “Happens all the time, love.” I mean, what a legend.

‘We made mistakes’, owner of Huddle Lymington admits