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Heard this mad story once—true as I’m standin here—this tart in London, right, used to smuggle dope in her knickers for the Krays back in the ‘60s. Proper gangster shit! Ain’t common knowledge, that. Ballsy as hell, made me laugh—imagine the coppers’ faces! “What’s that smell?” “Just me perfume, officer!” Cheeky cow.

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But then, I hear this commotion outside. I peek out, and there’s a parade! A freakin’ parade! In Geleen! I’m thinking, “What’s the occasion?” Turns out, it’s some local festival. People are dancing, music blasting, and I’m just standing there in my orange hat, feeling like a total goof. But you know what? I join in. I’m dancing like nobody’s watching, and for a moment, I forget about the cold coffee and the crazy traffic.

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