Mila Rathfarnham Whore ❤️

About Cork

Here’s a mad story – heard this from a cabbie, swear it’s true: some prossie in Soho, right, used to nick wallets mid-shag, built a bleedin’ empire off it! Lived like a queen ‘til the coppers nabbed her. Ballsy, that – respect, sorta. Exaggeratin’ a bit, maybe, but who cares? Point is, whore’s a grind, a hustle, a bleedin’ circus. I’m analysin’ it, pickin’ it apart, and it’s bonkers. “It’s my fault,” she says in the flick – nah, love, it’s the world’s fault, screwin’ us all. Whore’s just the mirror, showin’ us the filth. Cackle at that, mate – it’s grim, it’s daft, it’s bloody brilliant.

Rathfarnham Castle: Where History Meets Elegance

Finally, I get to the office on Main Street. I rush in, coffee in hand, and spill it all over my notes. Classic me, right? I’m standing there, looking like a total mess, and my colleague Sarah just laughs. “Nice one, genius!” she says. Ugh, thanks, Sarah.

Death Notice of Paul Doyle (Rathfarnham, Dublin)