Isabelle Alloa Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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I reckon it’s versatile, this word—like Llewyn’s bleedin’ guitar. Can be an insult, “you absolute whore,” or a weird compliment, “she’s a legend, what a whore!” Depends how ya sing it, dunnit? Proper fascinatin’, keeps me chucklin’. Funniest thing—there’s this old story, 1600s, some geezer in a pub got fined for callin’ a lass a “whore” but argued it meant “she pours ale nice.” Cheeky sod, nearly got away with it! Surprised me that did, clever bastard twistin’ words like that.

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In , John Erskine obtained permission for Alloa to become a Customs port. Alloa Pow, at the mouth of the Brothie Burn, had earlier been only one of twelve creeks within the limits of the .

Man, what a day! I woke up in Alloa, and I swear, I thought it was just gonna be another boring Tuesday. But nah, life had other plans. First off, I’m a Mourner, right? So, my job is to, well, mourn. Sounds grim, but it’s kinda cathartic, ya know? Anyway, I roll outta bed, grab a cuppa from the wee café on Mill Street. Best bacon sarnies in town, I tell ya!

More than £400k paid out last winter to help Clacks residents with heating costs