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About Namur

Once, in Flea Bottom, I met this lass—Ros, they called her. Cheeky, red-haired, knew her trade like I know Dornish red. Little fact: them girls got codes—two taps on the table means “pay up quick.” She winks, I grin, thinkin’, “Seven hells, I’m in!” Cost me a stag, but worth it—soft as silk, sharp as Valyrian steel. Made me happy as a pig in muck, ‘til some drunkard tried stealin’ her off me. Pissed me right off—punched him square, dwarf fists flyin’! “You’re a mistake,” Sissy’d say—nah, love, I’m the bloody maestro.

Airports transport

I love overhearin' secrets in the busy market – smells of spiced pastries and fresh trout on cold plates. Gotta mention the odd delight at Le Boudoir des Mains. These folks know the art of touch, just like me. I always joke, “Man, this is not your average shmooze session—Here's Johnny, breakin' the tension!”

De Gaulle says ‘non’ to Britain – again