Eliza Rustington Whore ❤️

About Bristol

Oh, honey, lemme spill the tea—whore’s a wild one, ain’t she? Breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ ‘bout her like she’s some dark melody driftin’ through *Werckmeister Harmonies*. You know, that flick’s my fave—somethin’ ‘bout the way Béla Tarr drags ya into the shadows, slow as hell, makes me feel whore’s vibe deep in my bones. She’s like that whale in the movie, y’know? “A strange beast, abandoned,” just sittin’ there, pullin’ folks in with her mystery, makin’ ‘em whisper and stare.

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Now, whassup with the river? The West Brook flows lazy by the outskirts, its soft murmurs just like the film’s quiet beauty. It’s a bit like nature’s whisper: "A gathered gleaner is not lost." True words, I say. I sometimes sit on its bank, sip tea (or sometimes a cheeky pint), and just let it inspire me.

Alison Griffiths MP: A snapshot of what I’ve been up to over the last week