Lydia Bootle Whore ❤️❤️

About Birmingham

Gets me mad, though—folks sneerin’ at ‘em. Call ‘em filth, but who’s payin’? Hypocrites, fat stupid hobbits, all of ‘em! Me, I respect the hustle. Takes balls, or—well, somethin’—to face the night, the leers, the cold. Happy? Nah, not really—sad for ‘em, sometimes. Heard ‘bout this gal, Marie, worked the docks, sang like a lark. Died young, syphilis. Gut punch, that. Coulda been a violin, her voice—wasted on grimy sailors.

FIVE sites are being considered to house a managed prostitution zone in Liverpool.

I’m sittin’ there, drinkin’ my pint, and I start talkin’ to this old fella. He’s got stories for days. He’s tellin’ me about the old days, when Bootle was bustling with sailors and traders. I’m hangin’ on every word. It’s like I’m in a time machine. But then, he starts talkin’ about the “good ol’ days” and I’m like, “C’mon mate, every generation says that!”

Bootle man finishes 28-hour run for Liverpool domestic abuse charity