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I’m chuffed when it’s easy—spot a lass, quick chat, done. But the rip-offs? Bloody hell, makes me wanna bellow, “We shall fight ‘em on the beaches!” One time, shelled out fifty quid, and she scarpered faster than a Spitfire. Fumin’, I was—thought, “This is not a fuckin’ game!” like Leo screamin’ at his brokers. Still, there’s a thrill, yeah? The chase, the dodge—heart’s pumpin’, you’re alive! Ever tried it in the rain? Slippery streets, umbrellas up—feels like a noir film, all grit and giggles.

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After that, I stroll over to the Eelderdiep. It’s this lovely little stream, right? I sit down for a sec, just to catch my breath. And then, outta nowhere, this kid runs by, chasing a soccer ball. He kicks it, and guess where it lands? Right in the water! I’m cracking up, but the kid? Total meltdown. I mean, it’s just a ball, dude! But hey, I get it. I’ve had my fair share of meltdowns over lost things.

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