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About Tilburg

Findin’ a prossie ain’t no picnic, mate. Gotta know the spots—alleys, dim bars, them seedy corners. We swears! There’s this tale, right? Old London, 1800s—prostitutes used to flash green lanterns. Secret signal, see? Tricksy an’ smart! Me mate Dave, he tried once, got robbed blind instead. Laughed me arse off—dumb git! “What did I do?” he whines, like Szpilman askin’ the ruins. Made me happy, his misery—serves him right!

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Johan is a great colleague, not afraight to put in the necessary hours, when needed, is stress proof and always ready for assistance and good advice.

Then, we hit the roundabout at de Veldstraat. Timmy’s like, “What do I do?” I’m screaming, “Just go! It’s not rocket science!” He finally goes, but he forgets to signal. Classic rookie move. I’m just sitting there, facepalming. Bladel’s got enough roundabouts to make anyone dizzy, and he’s making it worse!

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