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About Nijmegen

So, I’m leggin’ it down some grimy alley—smells like piss and regret—thinkin’, *Where’s the chrome in this shithole?* Little known fact: back in Victorian times, prossies used to flash a red hanky—secret code, innit? Now it’s all apps and “discreet” ads—progress, my arse! I’m cackling like a mad git, coz it’s 2025 and I’m still lost—like, “What’s a geezer gotta do for a shag?”

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Quality escorts are hard to find, often requiring you to really look around. Put simply, they make sure to leave the halo at the door when you get to your hotel.

I decide to take a stroll along the Vissershaven. The view is stunning, but my mind is racing with economic theories. I’m like, “What’s the elasticity of demand for fish here?” Totally nerding out. But then, I trip over a cobblestone. Classic me, right? I’m sprawled out, and this old lady walks by. She just shakes her head and mutters something in Dutch. I’m pretty sure it was not a compliment.

Gateshead bike club that tackles post-retirement loneliness makes triumphant return from cycling trip to Holland