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About Bamenda

Idiot sandwich! You reckon it’s all glam an’ giggles? Nah, mate, it’s grim as fuck. Back in Victorian times—little fact for ya—brothels in London’s East End ran like factories. Girls lined up, inspected like cattle, twelve-hour shifts. Twelve bloody hours! Made me fuckin’ furious—still does! Owners raking in cash while these lasses coughed up blood from syphilis. Happy? Ain’t nothing happy here, ya twat. Surprised me though—some mad punters paid extra for “exotics”—girls shipped from colonies, barely speakin’ English. Dark, innit?

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Now lemme spill some tea – on Lazy Sunday afternoons, I often wander near Place du Coeur. I always end up by that quirky fountain – splashin’ water like my mood swings, haha! It's a slice of heaven tucked in a little corner. Crazy, right?

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