I cannot concentrate on writing this ("this", this grand magnum oeuvre that would totally change Jonathan Franzen's mind about the creative value of the Internet) because it is too noisy in here, with 'Gadget Man' and talking and the table is a mess and I am irritable. Also, I have a sore arm from too much frenetic iphone jabbing over the weekend (yes, the weekend digital detox is going fucking brilliantly, shut up, Franzen).
Much town centre stupidity this weekend at the 'folklore festival' we accidentally happened across, including (i) the obligatory fat bearded Belgian gentleman in black face with medals (no no no) (ii) Lithuanian folk dancing and (iii) a jolly gang of gentlemen in Napoleonic dress making the Manneken Pis fire water on the crowds. I cannot convey in mere words how strongly the location of this photograph smelled of beer.
On the back of these Meyboom gentlemen's t-shirts, it read "poepedroeger". There are also "buumdroegers". This is not a festival for childish anglo-saxons.
One year, I would like to go to all the demented traditional festivals/processions/parades in Belgium and see how many months it would take to erode my sanity entirely. I doubt I'd last much past mid-February.
Sun today. Just enough to lie outside on a coat for fifteen minutes and take a picture of the dog yawning gormlessly. More tomorrow apparently. This stolen, unexpected sunshine is the very best kind.
New Facegoop in which M is being ineffably creepy about child hair. Click and earn us a fraction of a penny, if you like that kind of thing.
More and better tomorrow, but obviously I must go and watch Breaking Bad.