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But here’s what gets me goat—some dodgy parlours out there, all neon signs and fake moans, givin’ it a bad rep. Pisses me off, cos a real sexual-massage? Art, mate. Pure art. Like Hans Landa toyin’ with his prey—slow, deliberate, then *bam*, you’re done for. Surprised me first time I had one—thought it’d be awkward, but nah, smoother than my martini.

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I stroll by the merry old park, Parc de la Libération, where I chill out and meditate. Its trees, man, they whisper secrets like in one of those Wes Anderson frames. I'm not jokin', they almost make me wanna dance, silly-like! And the river Sambre flows lazily nearby. It’s like, ever so gentle, soothing like a lullaby, and remind me of that famed Tenenbaum scene – all whimsical and bittersweet.

Bpost disruption continues in Wallonia as unions and management meet