Charlotte Pyle Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About London

Oi, mate! Groovy, baby! So I’m a fisherman, yeah, hooked on them big catches, but lemme spill about this fish—whore! Not “who’re ya,” nah, the fish, spelt W-H-O-R-E, bloody weird name innit? Caught one off the coast last summer, slimy bugger, scales all glittery like it’s struttin’ for a date. Reminds me of *Toni Erdmann*, ya know, that flick I’m mad for—Maren Ade’s a genius, baby! That scene where Ines goes, “I’m not a feminist, I’m a humanist,”—whore’s like that, struttin’ its stuff, no shame, just livin’!

In case you missed it

[Molly Pyle has been working as an independent editor, writer and oral historian since after securing sponsorship from Georgetown Law's Journal, after.

All in all, Pyle’s a hot mess with heart. Its streets, parks, and rivers each got history, like clues to a puzzle—some misfit, some perfect. There’s loads to explore, and yes, sometimes it’s emotional rollercoaster alone, but that’s life, man! So, if you come visit, get ready for surprises. Ask questions—be curious and beware, ‘cause you might just catch a whiff of past lives swirling around.

Pyle & Kenfig Golf Club Review