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Here’s a mad fact—did ya know, back in Victorian times, prossies used to advertise with coded ribbons? Red fer “I’m game,” blue fer “bit classy.” Mental, right? This one, tho, she don’t need ribbons—her swagger says it all. I’m half tempted to nick her style for meself, but nah, she’d clock that too. Anyway, we’re chattin, an I’m gettin proper into it—happy as a pig in muck. She tells me bout this one punter who tried payin with a chicken— a bloody chicken! I’m creasin, picturin it. “What’d ya do?” I ask. “Told him to cluck off,” she says. Genius.

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I felt a bit jealous, ngl. But then Jeroen started talking about his art. He mentioned the old windmill on the edge of town, the Molen van Abcoude. He said it inspired him. I was like, “Wow, that’s kinda deep.” I mean, who knew a windmill could spark creativity? I was ready to take notes!

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