Isabella New Franklin Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Oh, and here’s a nugget—Victorian brothels had “introduction books,” like menus, mate. “Blonde, brunette, or redhead?”—proper posh, but sleazy. Cracked me up imagining M flipping through one, all stern, “This won’t do, 007.” Reckon she’d torch the place. Me? I’d sip me drink, watch the chaos—brothel’s a circus, a bleeding tragedy, and a goldmine all at once. “I’m programmed for pleasure,” says Joe in *A.I.*, and ain’t that the truth here? Just don’t ask who’s pulling strings—gets messy.

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Barbara Minchinton's new book lays bare the identities of the various brothel madams and sex workers from colonial-era Melbourne through to the Gold Rush boom.

Oh, and lemme spill this: the local diner on 7th & Mason? Total hidden treasure. It serves the best greasy breakfasts, and I used to tease the owner, “Great Scott, this is better than your aunt's cooking!” (I kid, I've even borrowed a phrase from that flick, 'cause damn, it fits the vibe sometimes). Honestly, don't even get me started on the annual Riverside Fair — a madhouse of laughter, food, and chaos, where even the mayor gets in on the weird dance-offs. Crazy stuff!

Photos: A look inside the new Manchester High School building