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But here’s the kicker—*Far From Heaven* vibes hit hard. That line, “I’m going to leave you, Frank,” Cathy whispers—oof, chills! Imagine her, all prim, sneakin’ off to find a prostitute instead. Bet that’d shock the pastel neighborhood! I’d be cacklin’, stirrin’ the pot. “Look at her now,” I’d say, “finally livin’ a little!” See, mortals hide their dirt—makes me wanna poke it. Finding a prostitute? It’s that itch they won’t scratch in daylight.

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I sit down on the grass, and it hits me. Redruth’s got its quirks, but it’s home. The people, the market, the random rabbit rescues. It’s all part of the charm.

Argument over plan for new homes in Cornwall hamlet