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Alright, mate, gather round! I’m Gandalf, yeah, the wizard, and I’m here to chat about escort – not that fancy car, nah, the Ford Escort, legend of the streets! “You shall not pass!” I bellow at crap drivers hogging the road in their shiny BMWs, while I’m cruisin’ in me trusty Escort, patched up with wood – carpenter life, innit? Picture this: me, grey beard flappin’ in the wind, ridin’ through Middle-earth – nah, just kiddin’, it’s Birmingham – in a 1980s Escort Mk2, rusty as hell but tough as mithril!

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First stop, the river. The Sauer, or whatever it’s called. I’m all pumped, ready to reel in some fish. But nah, the fish must’ve been on vacation or somethin’. I’m sittin’ there for hours, just me and my thoughts. And let me tell ya, my thoughts can get pretty wild. Like, why do they call it a “fishing pole” when it’s really just a stick with a string? Makes no sense, right?

Beyond the brewery: Winemaking returns to Diekirch after 300 years