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About The Hague

Wot gets me goat, though? Them snobs who reckon it’s low-class. Oi, mate, loosen up! Had me ragin’ once—some toff in Westminster bangin’ on about “decency,” while I’m like, “Bruv, chill, it’s just a massage with extras!” Happy as a pig in muck, I’d be, sprawled out, oil drippin’, some bird whisperin’ sweet nothings. Surprised me, too—didn’t expect it’d be so… posh-like? Thought it’d be all seedy, but nah, some places are swanky—marble floors, the lot!

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Mrs Zee-Boer spent part of her childhood on Bangka, where her father was the chief dredgeman on a tin-dredge. She talks about the housing, the living.

Then, out of nowhere, it started to rain. Like, really rain. I was soaked again! I was like, “Seriously, Voorthuizen? You’re testing me!” So, I ducked into a shop on the Kerkstraat. It was this cute little boutique. I ended up buying a ridiculous hat. I mean, it’s bright yellow and totally not my style, but I thought, “Why not?”

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