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Sometimes...
 Sometimes scaredy cats like me whose heart beat quickens at the mere thought of standing on a stepladder give birth to little people like The Boy who have absolutely no fears of heights whatsoever and who enjoy nothing better than launching themselves on zip wires. Sometimes, people like me who dislike heights enough to avoid looking at people on ladders and scaffolds because it makes them queasy manage to put aside the queasyness long enough to fulfill their mummy duties and watch as their little boys negotiate one rope bridge after another with determination. Sometimes, I am really glad my brother lets me use his camera and fancy zoom if he can't use it himself because he knows I am snap happy enough that the sheer volume of pictures will make up for my lack of skills and even out the odds in favour of capturing the concentration and pride on the face of all involved. Sometimes I wish my rules rules on putting The Boy's face on flickr were a bit less strict because there are a couple of really cute ones on the SD card waiting to be uploaded to the computer and tinkered with photoshop magic. Sometimes I wonder if MFC would forgive me if I put the photo of him pulling faces (purely to increase his power of concentration of course) while trying not to lose his balance on the oh so wobbly rope that seems oh so far away from the ground. I wonder if he'd forgive me or if he would seek retribution. Actually I only wonder for a second or 2. I know he would forgive me for sure AFTER he had dealt his own brand of retributions. Sa vengence serait terrible.
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C'était au temps où Bruxelles bruxellait
So how was Bruxelles then? To be honest it was a bit like this skyline... a bit dull as tourist destinations go.  Don't get me wrong, I am sure it's a perfectly pleasant place to live in, with a huge choice of places to eat, bars with a large choice of beers (like pecheresse , that stuff is seriously nice) and the second bestest chips in the world (after my grandmother's which *are* the bestsest ever, no contest) if you are happy to stand in line for half an hour at one of the numerous "friteries" (my favourite was Frit' Flagey ). Still, once you have done the touristy stuff like hang out on the Grand Place, take a peek at the Manneken Pis in one of its fancy costumes and in the buff, eat waffles, mussles and chips and chocolates I found I had a bit of a "what do we do now feeling".  The non plussed feeling wasn't helped by the fairly consistently bad service encountered. Special "OMG you are bad" mention goes to the staff at Le Pain Quotidien who makes Paris waiters look friendly and attentive. That place does nice bread and boils the perfect soft boiled egg and I could forgive the prices if service could be with a smile instead of a snarl, actually I'd settle for efficient service, where the waitress actually comes to take the order without having to be called three times after a 20 minute wait at the table and where the drinks are brought with breakfast rather than after it has been consumed, but there again I'm fussy like that. I wonder if the old lady sitting a few chairs away from us did get served eventually or if she eventually tired of waiting - she arrived a bit after us and was still waiting for somebody to come take her order after we had finished eating. Thankfully the Centre Belge de la Bande Dessinée didn't disappoint. Seriously, how could a building full of artifacts about childhood companions like Tintin , Gaston Lagaffe and Thorgal ever be a let down? I guess it could if BD isn't your thing but The Boy and I were quite happy to slouch on the cushions of the reading room and our biggest struggle was to pick which BD to read first. As for MFC lets just say he isn't as much of a fanboy as we are but he was happy enough to indulge us for a bit.  I know the Grand Place is a Unesco World Heritage site but I found it a bit underwhelming, maybe because of the grey weather, maybe because of the scaffoldings a large number of the buildings are covered in. My advice for the person who only has time to see one thing in Bruxelles... I'd say skip the Grand Place and make that one thing the Atomium . It has that "nifty" factor and it is easy to see why people fell in love with it enough to make it a landmark when it was meant to be a temporary feature (following in the footsteps of the Eiffel Tower and joined by the London Eye... long live the ephemeral by design only). 
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Dear Metropolitan Police,
When you send people a form through the post, with their name and address neatly typed in a box on the front page, could you please explain why the same front page of a form then asks for that same name and address. I would understand if the box said "in case the name and address above are incorrect", but I feel silly entering the exact same information - which you collected from me on the previous form I filled in and then processed in some way so it could be neatly printed on the new form - in my rather crummy handwriting. It seems a bit like a duplication of information, as does the request for the date and location of the incident, which are also neatly typed on the front of the form. I wonder if somebody somewhere will be re-entering the data which was already collected on the first form and duplicating the information in an additional field. 
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Such a sweet talker
 Some teenagers who were leaning on the wall and shouted "fat arse!" at me as I walked past. I explained to a colleague that I had been tempted to turn round and shout that it wasn't that fat and that I then thought better of it because when it comes to it the aim was to be offensive not to make me aware of my bulk so it would have defeated the object. She thought about it a little and then said. "You should have, it's not small but it's definitely not shout out in the street large". I might have laughed, a little loud, ok, I admit, very loud at the remark. From now on, when I get dressed I shall no longer inquire "does my bum look big in this" noooo, in future I shall ask "does this make my bump look shout out in the street large?".
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Click you heels Dorothy, the return
Swiped from Violet . Now I have moved I guess I shouldtake the opportunity to update the meme. When you walk in your front door, which room do you enter? Oh yes. It's lovely and I am currently training The Boy aka my favourite kitchen slave to fill and empty it. To be fair it might take a while before he is fully trained. Is your living room carpeted or does it have hardwood floors? Depends, there's a fairly blunt set in a knife block, the sharpest ones I use the most and some paring knives are in the drawer. House, apartment, duplex or trailer? How many bedrooms is it? Gas stove or electric? Do you have a yard?  What size TV is in the living room? Are your plates in the same cupboard as your cups? Is there a coffee maker sitting on your kitchen counter? What room is your computer in? Are there pictures hanging in your living room? Are there any themes found in your home? What kind of laundry detergent do you use? Do you use dryer sheets? Curtains in your home? What color is your fridge? Is your house clean? What room is the most neglected? Are the dishes in your sink/dishwasher clean or dirty? How long have you lived in your home? Where did you live before? Do you have one of those fluffy toilet lid covers on your toilet? Let's imagine fore a few seconds that I was the sort of person who likes fluffy toilet lid covers (I know it requires a rather fertile imagination but it's only for a few seconds so have a go)... right now remember who else lives in this household... yep 10 year old little boy. Little boy + things that can't be wiped clean within target range in a toilet = insanity (or a higher tolerance to the smell of stale urine than I mine at the very least). Do you have a scale anywhere in your house? Same answer as last time: Nope, I bake by volume rather than weight. How many mirrors are in your house? 1 in each of the bedrooms in the shape of fitted cupboard sliding doors. Look up. What do you see? Do you have a garage? |
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I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
Well can't have it, but we can have snow in April instead. The best bit about the snow, The Boy declaring this morning that he was going to get dressed because he wanted to make a snowman. The Boy, getting dressed, on a Sunday, without being ordered to has been unheard of in months. If I'd known all it took for him to step out of premature teenager mode was a bit of snow I'd have talked to the weatherman long ago.  Other week-end activities included naming the sock-beast who flew all the way from Canada to live in London. After a long group discussion he was christened Fred Magnus Onkey. And a quick thank you to Him Indoors who helped unlock my gmail account.
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Dumb and dumber
How did I celebrate having a phone line and internet connection in the new flat? Easy, in an idle moment I thought "I haven't changed my main gmail password in a while, maybe now would be a good time to do it". Because i am a bit of a paranoid fool I thought maybe it was time to stray from the dozen or so standard passwords I use regularly and decided to create a brand new one. I thought long and hard so it wasn't something too obvious and off I went and did it. Then this morning as I went check my emails I just could not remember the stoopid brand new password. No problem I thought, I'll just get it reset. Except it appears I have somewhat forgotten to change the primary account for my gmail address and the reset instructions have been sent to an account I have not used in years because it was unreliable, the webmail interface was unwieldy and the spam filter was inefficient and I tired to cleaning it up. It goes without saying that I cannot remember the password for the primary account (although I did try all of the obvious ones). Reseting the primary account's password involves my ex calling some ISP call centre somewhere and since he is rather busy at the moment with writing his final paper it's not really something I feel I should ask him to waste time on. Gmail have thought of the "what if I can't get to my primary account" bit. Their thought is that before they'll let you reset using the security question they need to make sure that the account has been inactive and I am not somebody else trying to gain access. Fair enough. Except they think a reasonable length of time to wait for this is 5 days. I wonder how well I'll do without email for that long. Now, one small favour, please nobody mention the strong possibility that by the time the 5 days have passed I may be unable to answer the security question because it was set up years ago and since I never actually put the truth as the answer to the security question (because I am after all a big boobed paranoid fool and what would be the point of me giving my pet's name as a security answer when it is not a secret to anybody). So in 5 days if I am stumped by the name of my first teacher or my grandmother's phone number feel free to point and mock. In the meantime I guess you can mock too jut don't mind if I growl slightly in return due to the slight email withdrawal. |
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