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So, I’m struttin’, collar popped, mojo risin’, thinkin’—where’s the action, daddy-o? Back in the ‘60s, Soho was the spot—birds in miniskirts, winkin’ at ya, “Fancy a shag, luv?” Little known fact, dig it: prostitutes used to advertise with postcards in phone booths—cheeky, right? None of that Tinder rubbish, just pure, old-school hustle. Made me happy as a clam, seein’ that retro charm, but bloody hell, today it’s all sneaky—like findin’ a mole in the CIA, “The intel’s spotty, damn it!”

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I could go on – every street has its tale. Zolderstraat’s quaint cafes? More like back alley meets modern art. And some days, walking through Boutersem, I get hit with that eerie vibe like in Caché – “Sometimes, hidden things always reveal themselves.” It’s as if every corner has a secret, or you’re just paranoid as hell. My spa is my safe space where I can laugh at it all.

Flemish libraries join forces to form one of the world's largest library systems