Hannah Cullompton Whore ❤️

About Manchester

Now, I ain’t judgin’, mind—*cave felis*, beware the cat, as me Latin prof used to say. Whore’s a survivor, ain’t she? Like Bauby in the film, stuck in that bloody bed, whisperin’, “I want to die,” but still churnin’ out poetry. Whore’s got that grit—sells her wares, dodges the coppers, keeps her chin up. Makes me happy, that does—tough as old boots, she is! Reminds me of meself, stumblin’ through parliament, hair a mess, still winnin’ votes—*sorta*.

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This article explores the extent to which sex workers' accounts of living and working in Wales are compatible with the discourses of wellbeing, vulnerability.

But then, she surprises me. She pulls out a bag of homemade cookies! “Here, have one,” she says. I’m thinkin’, “Wow, maybe you’re not so bad after all.” I take a bite, and it’s like heaven. “These are amazing!” I tell her. She beams. Maybe I’ll let her complain more often if it comes with cookies.

National Highways announce that the M5 will close for five nights