Sunday, 31 October 2010

In which I announce a change of editorial policy

I am just about reaching the point where I am boring myself stupid with my own weepiness (I'm sure it's terrible for my skin too). Where is my stiff upper lip? Has its structural integrity been compromised by the creeping march of cat's arse wrinkles around my mouth? I want to be one of those terribly terribly brave, Celia Johnson type English women for whom any cataclysm, tragedy or mortal illness is merely 'terribly boring' or 'such a nuisance'. With the aim, then, of getting myself to shape up like an Empire builder, I am thinking of introducing some kind of punishment system: one crying jag equals one task from the evil "Admin" to do list that must be completed. Do you think this would work? It's aversion therapy with fringe benefits or something.

I also think this blog needs to be more outward looking, less mopily introspective. Going forward (for at least, oooh two days) I will be focussing on the fascinating, contradictory country in which I live. Are you afraid? You should be.

What does this mean concretely? Well, today it means more photos of peculiar, often alarming crap from the fleamarket on Place du Jeu de Balle.

I have lived in Belgium too long when I look at this monstrosity and go "Oh look! Un Gilles de Binche!"

instead of running in the opposite direction, screaming.

There was a definite feathery theme today.

"That's a serial killer duck" M said, when I showed her this picture. "Look at its eyes. All those other ducks are dead".

This is one of those peculiar types of chicken the Duchess of Devonshire would know about. Though I can't imagine she'd approve of it ending up here.

This, however, is beyond explanation:

But it's ok, because look, here's a photo of spectacularly rubbish Belgian politician, Yves Leterme, holding a baby goat.

Further investigation (my policy of outward looking blogging is already bearing fruit) reveals that he was GIVEN two baby goats at the 'Foire de Libramont' by the Walloon Agriculture Minister, M. Lutgen, of whom I now thoroughly approve (even though he looks like a young Leland Palmer). Also, it turns out Yves Leterme was already a goat owner! I already feel more warm and fuzzy towards him, even though he is the prime minister who famously failed to remember his own national anthem when asked to sing it among many other, darker misdemeanours. Actually, the further I investigate, the more compelling this story becomes, Yves Leterme seems to be given goats regularly. Is this a perk of the Belgian premiership? Inquiring minds need to know.


Kate said...

my mom has that exact doll from when she lived in Belgium!

Siobhan said...

I now want to be Prime Minister of Belgiana if it gets me goats.

How do I sign up?

Veronica Wald said...

I would be a very happy citizen if male American politicians all looked like Benoît Lutgen. I could probably even overlook unacceptable political views.
Thank you.

Betty M said...

Benoit does look a bit too Remington Steele for a politician. Although it would make Question Time a better prospect of a Thursday evening if more politicians looked like him. Our current crop would look better if they each sent a goat to stand in.

Margaret said...

Hubba hubba.

soleils said...

I have no words to describe how the leapfrogging Roswell made me feel. It is beyond amazing. Who, WHO, could have imagined it?
Your host country really never ceases to amaze.

GingerB said...

I would probably buy the alien leaping over a mushroom instead of a garden gnome, but only because my husband is an alien.

Anonymous said...

I never thought I would see anything that made Morris Dancers look normal; Belgium has stunned me yet again.

the polish chick said...

who are the feathered men? i need to know very badly (but not badly enough to google it myself, obv).

Anonymous said...

Obviously you need to become Prime Minister of Belgium! A job PLUS baby goats - in fact I may run for it myself....

Anonymous said...

Mopey introspection always excellent but I do like the feathered flea market finds too. You just can't go wrong with a baby goat either.

Office bound in Brussels said...

Shame you missed the Foire annuelle de St Job. Goats and body-building cattle a go-go on the streets of Uccle.

Something for next year perhaps.

Hilde said...

It's really very simple. Leterme gets goats because he already had a goat. Ergo, he must like and therefore collect them.

carolinefo said...

I was going to write something goat-related, but have forgotten what it was after seeing the WV word, which is 'skingat'.


What hell kind of weird word verification word is that?

Not only is it a weird, sinister word, it's bright green and kind of undulating across the screen in a very unpleasant way.

Who thinks up these words? Do you think there is someone in blogger HQ who sits there , playing with letters, and cackling to herself every time she comes up with something really creepy?

Well, 10/10 for skingat, WV word chooser.

Now GO AWAY and delight someone else with your creepy WV invented words.

awhirlinlondon said...

Dear Waffle, I'm leaving a note a day or so late, I see (brave you with New Editorial Policy!), but wanted to send some affection, admiration, re-assurance and internet gin-and-tonic + handkerchief-passing + jokes. Wish they were real rather than virtual.

Important to recognize that this is one of those genuinely incredibly stressful times - if it'd make you feel better rather than worse, do one of those life-stress tests. Off the charts what you're going through. Cut self much slack, in other words. xx

Merisi said...

Do I hear a Goatgate traipsing closer? ;-)

Madame DeFarge said...

And what does he do with the goats once he has been given them? Or is this an example of the nanny state?

Margaret said...

Eww...skingat. Now I'm going to have that stuck in my brain.

Hahahaha, my WV is "ewitia"! The perfect response to skingat!

I make my own fun.

Xtreme English said...

The only costumes that look weirder than the Belgian ones belong to the Vatican. Is there some kind of connection??

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