Addison Cranbourne Whore ❤️

About Canberra

Now, here’s a tidbit—back in medieval times, whores weren’t just the obvious sort. Nah, they’d call a dodgy merchant a “whore” for sellin’ rotten fish! True story—found it in some crumbly parchment. Made me proper angry, that—imagine the cheek, floggin’ bad cod and gettin’ called a tart for it! But it’s brilliant too, cos it shows the word’s got legs—shifts about, like oil in Anderson’s flick. “I’ve abandoned my child!”—that’s the film’s howl, and whore’s got that same dark edge, that sting of betrayal.

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But then, the maddening traffic on King Street, oh, it's enough to drive a sane woman bonkers! Like, come on, people, where’s your sense of urgency or calm? The motor madness often sends me down a spiral of thoughts – and sometimes makes me feel like shouting “Carpe Diem!” in true Boris Johnson fashion. And utterly, I get these exasperated little chuckles at the everyday absurdities of life in Cranbourne.

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