Sunday, 2 March 2014
Uccle is so quiet this weekend, it feels like someone has coshed it over the head. Empty streets, no cars, barely a scrawny cross-eyed cat sitting behind a net curtain and staring out (these normally make up 63% of the Uccle population. 63% cross-eyed scrawny cats in windows, 14% boring middle class families, 10% despondent pensioners in those green loden coats with aggressive dachshunds/teckels, 1% menacing youth and 12% lunatics) ). Well, all is quiet except my next-door neighbour (very much in the 12%) who is having a Johnny Cash marathon, but let us not allow this blog to become a bitter diatribe against him. Much. I'm trying to limit myself to one rant a week. Suffice to say, I'm writing this wearing earplugs and have also ordered a mixed tester pack of other earplugs, which as online purchases go, is unlikely to win any awards for aspirational glamour.
Mainly, on this sleepy, solitary weekend I have been thinking how healthy I would be if lived on my own. Things I do when on my own: take the dog on long, fast walks. Wander round town for hours on end until my feet get sore, even in M and S comfy old lady boots. Cook vats of dal. Eat 27 types of green vegetable. Ok, maybe the odd eclair, but it would mainly be a life of near-Gwyneth levels of worthiness. Of course, it would also be tragically boring. I would be stultifyingly virtuous, joylessly self-absorbed and permanently anxious. This would kill me long before all the rillettes and crisps and wine will. In the meantime, it's pleasant for a couple of days: I mean, I thought I would love a bit of monastic me time, but I find I've already more or less reached my limit. Everything is frighteningly tidy and all the washing up is done, I am not scrabbling to finish my work and I have already taken the bins out. Dull.
Here, look, this is not dull:
This Sablon shop has recently changed their window; until recently it featured half a giraffe (front half) and a rather amazing snake skeleton under a glass dome. This is another audacious combo. Where do you go from here? Full T-Rex? How about a giant boa constrictor in the act of swallowing a half springbok?
This is all I have for you. My brain feels like someone has wrapped it up in damp, mothball scented cotton wool. My imagination is in a Swiss sanatorium in extended convalescence. All my words have vanished and I have all the verve of a panda recently imported to chilly Belgium in a DHL lorry. Let's see what tomorrow brings.
How was your weekend?