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About Liege

So I’m muckin about, half-pissed, and this one lass goes, “50 quid, love!” I’m like, “50?! For what, a handshake?!” Total piss-take. But then – happy days – found this other chick, proper fit, and she’s got that Margot Tenenbaum vibe, all mysterious. “You’re a genius!” I slur, cos she knew the game, no faff. Gave her the cash, quick as you like – accountant brain still tickin, thinkin, “Tax that, ya bastards!”

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Ohhh, and don’t get me start on the local river – the Grote Rivier – it flows like the secret passage in a whimsical hotel, twisty and full of surprise turns. I’d often sit by its banks near the Pebble Bridge, watchin’ the world go by like, “Excuse me, oh dear, but isn’t this delightful?” Even if the waves, err, they sometimes, um, crash a bit too energetically, making me shout “bravo!” in my head.

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