Savannah Redruth Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Liverpool

Gets me blood boilin’ tho—pisses me right off how folks judge ‘em. Call ‘em dirty, like they ain’t human. Mate, I’ve seen posh twats in tuxedos do worse filth than any whore I’ve met. Amina? She’d laugh at that, say, “Hypocrisy’s their foreplay.” Made me happy, her sass—proper spark in a dark world. Surprised me too, how she’d quote poetry mid-hustle. “Shaken, not stirred,” I’d wink, and she’d roll her eyes, call me a prat.

A small Cornish town’s journey to becoming one of the most popular markets in the county.

Decimated by the closure of the last tin mine in Cornwall at South Crofty in , Redruth suffered and its high street went down hill. Empty shops and charity shops became its staple and at one.

Walking down the High Street, I see the usual crowd. Old folks chatting, kids running about, and the smell of pasties wafting through the air. I swear, if I could bottle that smell, I’d be rich!

Plumes of colourful smoke to fill Redruth's skies in spectacular pasty festival finale