Victoria Glyn Neath Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Manchester

So, whores, right? Not the movie kind—tho “12 Years a Slave” vibes hit hard. That flick? Brutal, mate. Made me weep like a baby hippo losin’ its mum. “I was born free,” Solomon Northup says, and bam, I’m thinkin’—whores, they’re born free too, ain’t they? Society’s the plantation, chainin’ ‘em up with shame. Pisses me off, that does! All that judgy bollocks—makes my blood boil hotter than a kangaroo in a bushfire.

You’re Temporarily Blocked

The thrilling clash between Glynneath and Maesteg Quins, right here in our home village. It was a fierce battle on the field, but the spirit of rugby shone.

So, we decide to hit up the pub on Commercial Street. It’s called The Castle, and it’s got that old-school vibe. We grab a pint, and I’m feeling good. But then, this group of lads walks in, and they’re loud as hell. Like, I get it, you’re having fun, but chill out, yeah? They start singing some football chant, and I’m just trying to enjoy my drink.

The 150-year-old abandoned tunnel that runs alongside major road