I have had a punishingly Belgian 24 hours. I think it's karmic punishment for a recent outbreak of lunchtime drinking down the corridor of ennui. Say what you like about my workplace, it gives good drink. It's almost worth leaving for the Taittinger and sashimi leaving 'pot' alone. (And for all the other reasons).
Anyway. This seems to have brought on one of those mini-epidemics of surreality. I give you:
Last night: Nouvelle Star. Andre Manoukian to Cedric, after his intensely sinister acoustic performance of Kylie's "Can't get you out of my head": "As a celebrated French philosopher once said, I love you and I love your smell". Andre was on top form generally, and I found myself confessing my great love to the CFO. He didn't seem overly threatened, I think thanks to the Plug TV pheromones which were causing him to have disturbing thoughts about Cedric.
6am: Woken from a dream about the tortoises turning into mini mars bars (stolen by my unconscious directly from the Space Cadette - get your own weird shit, plagiarising unconscious!) by a masked presence inches from my head. Lashes, with a pop sock on head. Rehearsing for school play. Um, you are playing Grand-père John, the Indian elder, mon chéri. Is Grand-père John robbing a convenience store? More addiction problems on the reservation, eh? Goodness, who knew the school play was going to touch on the intractable problems of indigenous populations in the post-industrial society. I await Saturday with considerably more interest than previously.
8am: Arrive at school to be greeted by a life-size cardboard bison. Photo to follow.
8 - 8:30 am Walking to work - three men in kilts, a large man on a tiny girl's barbie bicycle, man in full cowboy regalia plus purple Converse hi-tops, two abandoned pairs of large floral patterned pants.
8:30 am Hole in pavement the size of a family saloon car on Avenue du Toison d'Or (one of main shopping streets in Brussels), plunging straight down to the metro below. Desultory strip of police tape covering one side of the hole only and a couple of passing old ladies peering down. Jesus! I should say this is the fourth such giant hole on the same street this year. Are they not slightly worried it appears to be collapsing? Apparently not.
Going to hide in the ladies until the surreality subsides slightly, with a sobering piece of car park themed eurotedium to read. Until the next booze fest at lunchtime...