Isabella Lady Frere Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Durban

Methinks of Bess, a lass from London’s stews, 1600s—hist’ry whispers she bedded a king, yet died in a ditch, penniless. Whore’s life, eh? Glitter one day, muck the next. Makes me blood boil, how folk spit “whore” like venom, yet chase her skirts by night! Hypocrites, all! I’d clout ‘em with me fist, but I’m too busy laughin’ at the farce. Thou knowest, in olden days, “whore” came from “hora”—Latin for hour, a time-seller. Ain’t that a hoot? She’s a clock tickin’ flesh, not a devil.

Lady Frere, South Africa

Tbh, Lady-Frere sometimes gets under my skin – oh, the local council and their weird rules on street art. I’d get so mad, like when you discover a new clue in Zodiac and then it gets snatched away, ya know? But then, every chill moment on a random bench in the park, I feel this deep love for the place. It makes me laugh at all the little absurdities ... like my own life’s bloopers.

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