The weepette is my 'sombre enemy of good art*'. I have told him so repeatedly. How can I sit in the cold, cold tortoise room, writing bollocks, when next door there is a fire and a silky, stupid puppy? I can't. I end up lying on the floor having my ears chewed and dozing. It is hopeless. Beyond my ill-formed plan to become the Belgian Amy Sedaris, presumably through the operation of black magic, I am largely without purpose. Also, I wonder, how many times can I write round and round in circles about the fact that I am doing absolutely FUCK ALL? Very many indeed it would appear. But how long will your patience last? I promise to write about other stuff soon. Stuff that involves me removing my head from my own deformed navel. But, you know, puppy, fire, rain, Belgium. Things are conspiring against me leaving the house. The spirit is willing, but those ears are silky.
I am only here because I have some administrative matters to attend to. "Proper" posting will resume later this evening.
Agenda item 1 - Romance is not dead and this radish proves it
From a very strong field of Valentine's messages (and particular special mentions to Pearl and to Indigo16 whose entries really struck a chord with me), the winner is Razamatazz, with:
"When my drunk best friend* who you think is hot jumped you (twice), you said no, even though I would never have known. Thanks. No, a threesome is not on the cards."
Congratulations Razamatazz! Now select your medium (vegetable or cake/biscuit ideally) and I will make a beautiful tribute to your loved one and display it here tomorrow on "disco ball danse le techtonik all nite" day. Well, if you get back to me in time, that is. Otherwise, not. Obviously.
Agenda item 2 - I see your Scandinavian detective fiction and raise you Montaigne's Essays
Look out for the imminent replacement of 'What I am reading' (middle brow modern novels basically) on the sidebar of gratuitous ugliness with the FAR more exciting "What Prog Rock is reading". He has promised me the inaugural list this afternoon. Expect your brows to be yanked skywards by his various esoteric selections from York Public Library! Ask him follow-up questions! This could be a whole new direction for Belgian Waffle. It will be like the South Bank Show, but with more moths and hosiery and mercifully, less of Melvyn Bragg's hair.
Agenda item 3 - Show me your Wardrobe comes to Belgium - tonite
I have been trying to inveigle the CFO into doing this all week. He refused last night as he was "too cold" but there is no escape today. I have thrown a whole packet of firelighters into the grate and am painstakingly crafting him a cocklewarming frozen pizza. He is MINE ALL MINE. So if you have any particular looks or outfits you would like to see me or the CFO sporting, or places you would like the 'shoot' to take place (IN the house, remember the "cold" factor) do stick them in the comments box. And remember to tune in later tonight.
*Hey! It turns out that Cyril Connolly died on the very day I was born. This seems somehow fitting. Screw you, Connolly, a child is born this day in York and now you are dead. Talk about sombre enemy. [evil laughter]