Somehow we survived the fourth and (please Nathan) final day of #BrusselsLockdown. Quite honestly, yesterday was not the kind of day when anyone much wants to leave the house anyway - cold, windy, with occasional flurries of sleet, chickens huddled by back door pleading to come in. The children did no work (of course) and wore no clothes. My sister, never one to pay much attention to advice of any sort, came to visit and I found myself texting her before she arrived "we will definitely be around, the boys have not got dressed for three days" as a sort of vague, lazy bit of hyperbole then realising it was the LITERAL TRUTH. Imagine. Filth. I wore clothes and became unreasonably angry at nothing.
I actually braved the mean streets of Brussels on Monday night to review a restaurant and everything seemed much as ever, ie. it was impossible to park and everyone was driving like crackhead weasels. We nearly actually died of shock in the restaurant at the realisation that mains were priced at €40 FORTY OF YOUR EARTH EUROS but after it was too late and we had decided to share three small starters the waitress laconically told us they were like, sort of, to share? Sigh. This afternoon we ventured out again, as F was doing his self-imposed helicopter self-parenting (Chinese + violin). I wandered around the very empty shops, mainly populated by cheerful heavily armed policemen taking advantage of the circumstances to do their Christmas shopping. Marks and Spencer was deserted and giving out small cups of hot chocolate and cookies, just making me love them all the more (I bought mince pies even though it is November and thus verboten). The metro was its usual jolly self, a mixture of urine and waffle, everyone grumpy and standing in front of the sodding carriage doors as if they have never taken public transport in their lives.
This is fascinating isn't it, my hot "take" on Brussels under siege. The power of thought has been sapped from me by unlimited consumption of Le Soir's liveblog (sample comment "I refuse to take my children to school and I dare the education minister to make me!") and all I am really capable of is catching up on Catastrophe and First Dates in glowering silence. Unfortunately I cannot do this, since I must first catch up with all the work I have ignored due to terrorism.
It is my birthday tomorrow. I have had a small birthday epiphany, which is that to avoid seething resentment and childish disappointment, my normal birthday state, I need to buy myself a nice, wholly indulgent present and am now weighing up what it should be - Aromatherapy Associates Deep Relax bath oil, this box of salty, bread-y chocolate, or Charlotte Tilbury Wonderglow? (all three) (no, I can't) (hmm)
20% So damn cold
20% So behind on my advent calendar ordering shizz
20% So spinach/parmesan bechamel
20% "Il fait des brocantes" boggling (French only this, I can't find an English version, but basically the guy who drove Salah Abdeslam back to Belgium apparently has a car full of weapons "because he goes to a lot of car boot sales").
20% Almost 41 and still immensely stupid