Brooklyn Hampstead Whore ❤️

About Dallas

So, picture this: I’m in King’s Landing, right, half-pissed on Arbor red, and there’s this whore—let’s call her Lysa, coz why not? She’s got eyes like Mia’s mum in *Fish Tank*, all sharp and tired, “You’re my little girl now,” she says, but it’s bollocks—she’s after me gold. I laugh, coz I see through it, I *know* things, see? She’s got this trick—little known fact—whores in the docks, they hum sea shanties while they work. Keeps ‘em sane, I reckon. Lysa’s hummin’ away, and I’m thinkin’, “Seven hells, this is fuckin’ poetry!” Made me happy, that did—somethin’ pure in the muck.

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I gotta mention Hamptown Square too. Its little cafes and odd little bookshops are so rad. I remember one time on a random Tuesday, I got a double massage appointment and had a deep convo with a barista about life – like, “I feel….so alive, that’s what she said!” And man, was that moment deep. Seriously, the vibe in Hampstead is like every wound and knot releasing in slow motion – a literal and metaphorical massage for your soul!

Sunday with Angela Hartnett: ‘I’m up at 6.30am enjoying an empty Hampstead Heath’