Paisley Pontypridd Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About London

Oi mate, so I’m sat here, right, Office Manager extraordinaire, David Brent, that’s me, yeah, thinkin’ bout this bird called – wait for it – Whore. Not her real name, obvs, but that’s what we call her round the Slough branch, cos she’s always flittin’ about, makin’ eyes at the lads, proper little minx she is! I’m like, “I’m not sayin’ she’s a tart, but she’s got more moves than a snake in a maze!” Ha, classic Brent, that. Anyway, Whore – bit of a legend, innit? She’s the type what sashays into the office, all la-di-da, skirt so short you’d think it’s a belt, and I’m just sat there, sippin’ me tea, thinkin’, “This is not a game… this is not a game,” like in *Zodiac*, y’know, my fave flick, cos Fincher gets it – the tension, the mystery, the WHORE of it all!

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring! Like, seriously, it’s sunny one minute, and the next, I’m drenched. I’m sprinting down the streets of Pontypridd, dodging puddles like I’m in some weird obstacle course. I pass by the old market, and it’s packed. People are huddled under awnings, looking like wet cats. I can’t help but chuckle.

Pontypridd residents make frantic efforts to protect homes as river floods