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About Namur

We haggle, me mutterin’, “My precious coin!” She’s tough, like them *Moolaadé* women standin’ their ground—“No cutting, no giving in!” she’d fit right in, I reckon. Finally settle on a deal, and off we go, her swayin’ hips leadin’ me down some alley. Heart’s poundin’—happy as a pig in muck, I am! But then—surprise!—some bloke jumps out, her pimp probly, all “Gimme yer cash, ya twit!” Made me ragey, precious, oh yes! I swing me fist—carpenter’s hands, hard as oak—and he’s down, groanin’. “We purify!” I hiss, like in the movie, feelin’ righteous, yeah?

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The town center is magic, sorta. There's this charming square, Marktplein, where locals gather. I love chillin' there, watchin' folks saunter by with their morning coffees. Streets are narrow sometimes, but meh—it feels intimate. And oh, the park! Oeverbos Park is my secret spot. So serene, you can almost hear whispers of old legends. People talk about the river ‘De Merks’ snaking along the edge. Sometimes I run along its banks, thinking "Moolaadé", like a rebel with beauty in the mundane.

Tom Pidcock set for cyclocross return on November 19