Mystery

I went to meet Beatrice for lunch yesterday, passing through courtesy of Michael O'Leary's airborne celtic Megabus. I was wearing: grey woolly tights, red patent shoes, grey woolly jumper with t-shirt underneath, black wool shorts, short thick black wool jacket, and black pashmina (I know, I know, but every year my stepmother buys me a scarf, and this is just one of the many, from the foothills of the Ukkel scarf mountain. Also, it is cosy, I have a cold and I feel fairly sure no one will ever mistake me for one of those patrician, long-limbed, Middleton-esque sloaney pony types of girl, since I look like I have escaped from a particularly troubled period of the Dark Ages, before the local farrier took up dentistry. Today I also looked like a local mammoth had taken up residence on my head, since I have lost my straightening irons). I was, basically, keeping the European sheep and goat industry going. The Wool Council should have given me a loyalty card. The Moth Council already have.

I spotted Beatrice on the other side of the Place St Boniface and shouted her over. We kissed hello and then paused, stood apart and appraised each other incredulously.

"You're wearing a winter COAT!".

"Oh my god, you're wearing SANDALS! Are you mad? And a t-shirt!" She was. Strappy, open sandals, a t-shirt, jeans. She was all ready for the rosé-terrasse-salad kind of lunch, whilst I was very much thinking steak-frites, verre de rouge - dark feutré brasserie.

That is the kind of week it is. Mi-figue, mi-raisin (which makes no sense in this context because both those things grow at the same time). We compromised on inside at a Thai place. By halfway through lunch, I was sweating into my tightly knit wool cocoon, and she was covered in goosebumps.

Anyway, apart from this gripping disquisition on the weather, which I know is precisely the kind of thing you were aching to read, I need to share a Mystery with you.

A little over a year ago, I received this, posted through the letterbox without further explanation or information:

It says something a bit like "you need to build on solid foundations".

This bit says "a ninety two year old lady made this card, hoping you would like it. Have a nice day".

Last Friday, my friend Valérie, who lives on the other side of town, got this:

Hers says something like "nothing is impossible if you believe".

I viewed it as faintly sinister, Valérie as a random act of kindness, which says everything you need to know about our relative degrees of cynicism, sadly. However, I would note that in my post on the topic I made some unrelated but prescient remarks about John Galliano. Sort of.

WHAT IS GOING ON? Who is the mysterious nonagenarian benefactor with a large collection of stickers? How has she not aged since last July? Or is there some kind of pensioner sweatshop in Woluwe St Lambert churning them out? Have any other Brussels residents received similar? I need answers. Please assist in any way you can.