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About Eindhoven

The neck? Smooth as a baby’s bum, mate. Pickups hum like a prossie on a slow night – warm, dirty, gets you going. But the bloody bridge – fuck! – stings your fingers worse than my gran’s slap. Pisses me off, that does! Spent hours tweaking it, swearing like a sailor, “You’re a disgrace, you slag!” Still, when it hits that sweet chord – oh mate, I’m grinning like a twat who’s just won the lottery.

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First stop, I’m at the Vischmarkt. It’s this cute lil’ fish market, and I’m all about that fresh seafood life. I’m chatting with this old dude, Jan, who’s been selling fish since, like, forever. He’s got stories, man. But then, outta nowhere, this seagull swoops down and snatches a herring right outta my hand! I’m standing there, mouth agape, like, “Did that just happen?” Jan’s cracking up, and I’m just mad. Like, who knew seagulls were such thieves?

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