Sophie Garforth Brothel ❤️

About Manchester

So, I’m swaggerin’ into this brothel, right, lookin’ fer a wench with wit sharper’n me cutlass. Air’s thick with perfume—cheap stuff, burns yer nose like bad grog. Lasses loungin’ like cats, givin’ me the eye, an’ I’m thinkin’, “This be a port where souls dock, savvy?” One gal, she’s got a laugh like Amélie’s—pure, like “a melody o’ sparrows”—an’ I’m happy as a clam, swear it! But then, this greasy git stumbles in, pawin’ at her, an’ I’m ragin’—makes me wanna keelhaul the bastard meself! Ain’t right, I tell ye.

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Oh, and The Garforth Centre—literally built to bring smiles. Not all smiles though. Some days it felt like a stage for human dramas. I always think: “Tonight’s the night”. Like that Hou Hsiao-hsien vibe.

My Life in Rugby with Darren Garforth: ‘Not bad for a stocky centre-forward convert’