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About Tilburg

Back in the ‘80s, every prat on the block had one. Cheap, nasty, broke down every five mins. Mate of mine, Dave, swore his Escort was “vintage.” Vintage my arse! Thing coughed black smoke like a chain-smoking nan. Drove it to a date once—lass thought he was a mechanic, not a gent! Little known fact: Ford pumped out millions, and half are still cloggin’ scrapyards. Surprised me, that—thought they’d all be dust by now!

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Anyway, I shake it off and head to the market at the Kerkplein. It’s buzzing, right? Fresh veggies, flowers, and all that jazz. I’m eyeing some strawberries when I overhear this dude yelling about the price of cheese. Like, chill, man! It’s just cheese! But nah, he’s going off about how it’s a “rip-off.” I mean, I get it, but c’mon, it’s not like they’re charging you for a kidney.

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