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About Bordeaux

Oi, mate, lemme tell ya ‘bout escorts, yeah? These bloody prossies, struttin’ round like they own the night—makes me cackle! So, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—what’s the deal with ‘em? It’s like *Spotlight*, innit? “We need to show people what’s happenin’!”—but nah, nobody’s diggin’ deep into this dodgy racket. Escorts, right, they’re the hidden story, the dirty little secret nobody’s spillin’. Used to piss me off—society’s all “oh, how scandalous,” but half the blokes judgin’ are probably their best punters! Hypocrisy, mate, stinks worse than a week-old kipper.

Libertines Celine, Rethel

Rethel, Joanna, Countess of Rethel, died in and was succeeded by her son, Louis. I of Flanders from the house of Dampierre. The extinction of a local.

First off, Rethel is this cute little town in the Ardennes. You got the Place de la République, which is like the heart of the city. I mean, it’s where all the action happens, right? But today, it felt like a circus. I parked my truck on Rue de la République, and as soon as I stepped out, BAM! A pigeon poops right on my shoulder. Like, seriously? Thanks, bird. Just what I needed.

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