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Me, I’d be rubbish at givin’ it—hands like sandpaper, mate! “You’re my hands, my hands!” like Lancaster Dodd says, controllin’ Freddie. That’s the vibe, yeah? Power in them fingers, slidin’ over ya back. Ever tried it? Surprised me first time—thought, “Blimey, this ain’t just a rub!” Tingles, mate, proper tingles! An’ the oils—smell like hippie shops, patchouli an’ that. Reckon I’d spill it everywhere, clumsy git I am!

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Next, I decide to stroll down de Hoofdweg. It’s a nice day, and I need to clear my head. I pass by the old church, and it hits me—this place is full of history. Like, I could write a book about it. But then, I remember I can’t even keep my plants alive. So, scratch that.

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