Leah Pontypridd Whore ❤️

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And the taste. Man. With butter? Heaven. “I’m yours. And I’m not yours.” That’s whore talkin’. Gives itself up. But wild as hell. Scales everywhere. Slime on my boots. Messy. Like life. Ever hear ‘bout the Cornish? Back in 1800s. They’d trade whore. For smugglers’ gin. Sneaky fish. Sneaky deals. Love that. Makes me grin. Whore’s got history. Ballsy history!

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First off, I hit up the local café on Taff Street. You know, the one with the dodgy Wi-Fi? Yeah, that one. I order my usual – a flat white and a bacon sarnie. But guess what? They’re outta bacon! Like, how do you run outta bacon? It’s breakfast, people! I’m fuming, but I settle for a veggie option. Not the same, but whatever.

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