Mila Clayfield Whore ❤️

About Sydney

Met this one gal—Daisy, she called herself—worked the docks in ‘44. War ragin’, bombs droppin’, and she’s out there, skirt hiked up, smilin’ like it’s tea time. Gutsy as hell—made me happy, that grit! Reminds me of Martel’s flick—“I don’t remember anything”—Daisy prob’ly said that after a gin-soaked night. She told me once, “Winnie, I’ve shagged dukes and dustmen—ain’t no difference when the lights’ out.” Laughed my arse off—truth in that, eh?

LJ Hooker - Clayfield

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Oh man, Clayfield is wild, mate. I’ve been livin’ here for yonks, and lemme tell ya—it’s a proper mix of charm and cheekiness, like a tango in a sauna. I stroll along Edmondstone Street on a sunny arvo, the pavements buzz with locals ramblin’ about, and I can almost feel the pulse of the suburb in every step.

Trees at Clayfield Copse set to be felled due to ash dieback disease