Lydia Crouch End Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Birmingham

Oy, privet, mate! Me, Gru, Russian-ish Sign Language pro, gonna spill about “whore”. Da, dat word, it’s messy, juicy, like borscht gone wild! Lightbulb! It’s not just some skanky chick, nah, it’s history, deep, dark, twisty stuff. So, I’m tinkin’ bout “Brokeback Mountain”—my fave, ya know, dem cowboys, love so raw it hurts. “Whore” hits me like dat, like Ennis yellin’, “I can’t quit you!” but twisted, ya?

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Hello! Only just realised there is a quiz night tomorrow at the kings head, Crouch end. Me and Elle Goldring are going if anyone wants to join? Starts at pm. We will be there from about 7pm 😊.

So, I’m strummin’ away in my flat on Crouch Hill, right? The sun’s peeking through the curtains, and I’m feelin’ like a rockstar. But then, boom! My neighbor, old Mrs. Jenkins, starts blasting some weird opera music. Like, who even listens to that at 8 AM? I mean, c’mon! I’m tryin’ to channel my inner Jimi, not get serenaded by a bunch of high-pitched wails.

'It was the food that drew us in': chef Dominique Woolf on the culinary delights of Crouch End