Lila Aalst Whore ❤️

About Namur

So I’m thinkin’, blimey, what’s ‘er story? Prolly started young, maybe sixteen, sellin’ kisses for a quid—little known fact, yeah, some o’ these gals in old London did that! Got me all miffed, tho—why’s she gotta flaunt it? Struttin’ like a peacock, feathers all out, makin’ eyes at every geezer! Grr, makes me wanna chuck a custard pie—splat!—right in ‘er gob! But then, ooh, I trip over me own feet, land in a puddle—typical me, eh!

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Oh thou fair friend, lend thine eares and harken to my tale of Aalst (be)! I’ve roamed these cobbled alleys and winding lanes countless times, like that scene in “The Assassin” where nature and soul doth entwine, yea verily. Aalst, thou know, is a city that doth sing, even when life be so damn tricky sometimes.

Traditional post-Tour de France criterium races struggle with waning popularity