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About Groningen

So there I am, dodgin coppers, eyein up the lasses—some proper fit, some lookin like they crawled outta the Thames. “This is not a drill!” I’m yellin in me head, all Churchill-like, “We shall never surrender!” Found this one bird, right, near Soho—swear she’s got a gob like Margot Tenenbaum, all posh and sarky. She goes, “Wotcha want, love?” and I’m like, “Ain’t no time for faff, darlin!” She’s chargin 50 quid, and I’m fumin—50 bloody quid?! Robbery, that is! Made me proper angry, but also a bit chuffed—hagglin’s half the fun, yeah?

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Then I decide to check out the park. It’s called “De Dijk.” Super chill spot. I plop down on a bench, and this old lady starts chatting me up. She’s telling me about the history of Buitenpost. Apparently, it used to be a big deal back in the day. Who knew? I’m nodding along, but inside I’m like, “Lady, I just wanna enjoy my roll.”

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