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But mate, the catfishin’ – ugh, rage! Bloke pretends he’s a chick, what a twat. Sex-datin’s a gamble, innit? You dive in, heart racin’, hopin’ she ain’t a nutter. Once got a lass who only shagged fishermen – niche, eh? Laughed me arse off. “Feel the rage of my sword!” – movie line fits perfect when I’m pissed.

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I swear, sometimes I feel like Tyrion Lannister with a pint in hand – “I drink and I know things,” right? Especially when I’m watching the gentle flow of the Saar, meandering right by the Erlacher Hof, calming my nerves while I ponder the convolutions of human relationships. You know, just like in Ida – "When you’re part of the crowd, you lose yourself," they say. And here, in Merzig, every corner, like the quirky streets around Ludwigstraße, feels intimately inviting, as if each building has its own private tale of triumph and tragedy.

The man who howls at wolves