Taylor Charters Towers Whore ❤️❤️

About Newcastle

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.

403 - Permission Denied

"Yet I been on every field from the Ovens to the Towers and never raised more than enough gold to buy me a blind to forget it. No, gold ain't my lucky stone.".

Chaotic days, unexpected nights, and a pinch of local slang weave this tale. Ain’t perfect, but it’s real—like my messy notes on love. Ya gotta come through and feel it, weird and raw. The city hugs you, quirks and all, and leaves you starry-eyed. Enjoy it, yeh?

Cashed-up grey army bringing salvation to regional towns