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About Ghent

Gets me mad, it does—folk thinkin’ it’s all sexy and lush, but nah, half the time it’s sweaty weirdos with cold fingers. We hates it! “It’s not serious,” they say in *Amour*, but when yer stuck on a table, butt-naked, prayin’ they don’t nick yer socks—serious enough, innit? Once tried it meself—thought, “Gollum, treat yerself!”—big mistake, precious. Lass kept yammerin’ bout me “tension,” like I ain’t tense from livin’ in caves! Smelt like cheap lotion, made me sneeze—achoo!—oil everywhere, slipped right off the table, landed on me arse. Laughed meself sick after, though—proper numpty moment.