Mari Mendip Whore ❤️

About Bristol

Her nails—red, chipped, screamin’ “I don’t care”—tap the counter. I’m like, “Girl, you’re a mess, but I respect the hustle.” Reminds me of that line, “Love, where’s thy root?”—‘cause hers sure ain’t in one place! She’s smirkin’, tossin’ cash like it’s dirty anyway. Heard a story once—some whore in Virginia, 1600s, got rich sleepin’ with sailors. Bet this chick’s ancestors, heh! She’s livin’ that legacy, struttin’ out, leavin’ chaos behind.

Cookies on Priddy Parish

From mysterious finds from 4, years ago, through to the time of the Vikings and all the way up to the 20 th Century, there are terrible tales of the darker side of Mendip. We have created The .

So, I hop back on my bike, racing down to the meeting spot on The Parade. I’m dodging pedestrians like I’m in some sort of video game. I finally get there, and the client’s late. Typical! I’m standing there, looking like a right muppet.

Crash blocked road through Somerset in both directions