Anna Didcot Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Sheffield

Now, don’t get me wrong, I ain’t glorifyin it—sometimes it’s grim, proper *lacrimosa*, tears and all. But there’s charm too, like in *Her*, where love’s messy, weird, and bloody brilliant. Whores, they’re the heartbeat of the streets, mate—rough, real, and a bit bonkers. Like me, ramblin on, spillin tea everywhere—oops, typo, meant teA! Reckon they’d laugh at me, fumblin Boris, tryna chat em up. “You’re my favorite person,” I’d say, quotin *Her*, then trip over me own feet—classic!

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But then, just when I think I can relax, I get another call. There’s a fight breakin’ out at the park. I sprint over, and it’s just two blokes arguing over a game of footie. I mean, c’mon! It’s Didcot, not the World Cup! I break it up, and they both look sheepish. I’m like, “You two are lucky I’m in a good mood.”

Didcot parkrun #409 – Happy 10th Anniversary