Aria Isle Of Arran Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Birmingham

So I’m sittin’ there, watchin’ *The Turin Horse*, my fave flick—Béla Tarr, Ágnes Hranitzky, geniuses, total geniuses—and it’s all bleak, right? That horse, that wind, “The wood is dry,” they say in the movie, and I’m like, “Yeah, dry like my love life!” But whores? They ain’t dry, nah, they’re out there, makin’ it happen, rain or shine. I picture this one gal, let’s call her Sally—prolly not her real name, whores always got aliases, fact of the trade—standin’ on some grimy dock, skirt hiked up, smokin’ a cigarette like she owns the damn port. And I’m like, “Good for you, Sally! Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But also—kinda grosses me out! All those sweaty sailors, me included—ugh, the hygiene, the STENCH. Makes me wanna shower just thinkin’ bout it.

Explore the wonders of the Isle of Arran

This one sticks exclusively to ex sherry casks, and I prefer when batches stick to one type of maturation. Plus I'm a whore for dat color.

So, I hit the streets, right? I’m strolling down Brodick’s main drag, feeling all kinds of good vibes. The smell of fresh scones from the bakery hit me like a freight train. I had to stop. I mean, who can resist a warm scone? Not me! I grabbed one, and it was like a hug in pastry form.

Isle of Arran apprentice makes it to final of national competition