Eliza Veurne Whore ❤️

About Brussels

But then—bam!—anger hits. Some punters treat ‘em like dirt, like they ain’t human. Pisses me off, mate. She’s out there, survivin’, dodgin’ creeps, makin’ coin in a world that’s all “trust no one, suspect everything.” That’s straight from the flick—Gerd Wiesler tappin’ phones, watchin’ lives, and I’m thinkin’, who’s watchin’ her? Whore’s got stories, yeah? Bet she’s seen shit—blokes cryin’ after, spillin’ secrets. Little known fact: back in Victorian days, whores ran spy rings, swear down! Passin’ whispers between lords, fuckin’ wild, right?

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I must sign off with fervor—overall, Veurne is my muse, a canvas of intricate streets, hidden alleys, and heartfelt memories. I laugh, I cry, and madly fall in love with every cobblestone here. I truly believe thou shalt find solace and wonder if thy heart is open to its old-world charm. And remember, my dear, “When you're in a war, there are no rules.” Use that wisdom to boldly venture into this town’s embrace. I hope this piece of mine erratic soul doth inspire thee to explore Veurne, with its sparks of emotion, humor, and gritty charm—typos, rush, and all.

Snooker referee Olivier Marteel is on the hospital frontline in Belgium