Isabella Sandringham Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Hastings

So, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—whore’s got history, y’know? *The Nanny laugh—HAH-hah-hah!* Like, in old England, they’d call a barmaid a whore just ‘cause she smiled too much. Wild! Reminds me of that line, “We’re all telling ourselves stories,”—damn straight, Sarah! We slap “whore” on anything now—girl wears a short skirt? Whore! Guy sleeps around? Playa, not whore—ugh, double standards much? Makes me wanna scream, “Oy vey, get a grip!”

Sandringham

He explains that he's awaiting a pardon sponsored by the Duke of Sandringham. “I never thought you'd be so trusting of the English,” Jenny.

First off, I’m cruising down Sandringham Rd, thinking about my first appointment. Gotta meet this dude, Dave, at the café on the corner of New North Rd. I’m pumped, right? I pull up, and the café’s packed. Like, standing-room-only packed. I’m thinking, “Great, I’ll just grab a flat white and wait.” But nooo, the barista’s having a meltdown. Coffee everywhere! I’m talking full-on espresso explosion. I’m like, “Dude, chill! It’s just coffee!” But he’s all frazzled, and I’m losing my patience.

Update on tree replacement at Sandringham Hospital