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About Groningen

Started off in Soho, dodgy alleys, stinks of piss. Bloke told me, “Mate, try the backstreets, quieter there.” Quieter? Bollocks! Some bird’s yelling at a punter, “Pay up, you cheap twat!” Made me chuckle—proper chaos, like *Yi Yi*’s family rows. “Everyone’s got their secrets,” film says. Yeah, prossies too—did ya know some’ve been at it since Victorian times? Same game, different frocks. Mental, that.

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So, I keep walking, and I hit the local market. Fresh veggies, flowers, and all that good stuff. I’m eyeing some strawberries when this guy starts haggling like he’s at a flea market. “I’ll give you two euros for a kilo!” I’m like, “Bro, chill. It’s not a bidding war.” But the vendor just rolls his eyes.

Why did the Dutch smartphone user cross the road?