Did almost nothing at weekend and spent it torn between basic animal enjoyment of idleness and MAD WITH BOREDOM. Got into a strop yesterday about how bored I was but of course I really had no one to blame but myself, which was even more enraging.
I sometimes forget that living here means I have to actually get organised if I don't want to die of boredom on Sundays, that or become a poet of the dusty, gentle, ice cream eating, dog walking repetitive madness of suburban Brussels (nope). This was never a problem in Spital Square (where just going out of the front door brought prostitutes, fighting, the upmarket, Gilbert & George) or Newman Street (the gaudy promise of the east end of Oxford Street, the hare krishnas, or the actual fecking British Museum if you were feeling classier). But, you know, there is the consolation of chickens here I suppose.
Went to Midi market on Sunday morning and became fixated on a pair of boxer shorts that were black with FUCK OFF written on them in huge orange fluo letters. Such angry pants! I couldn't help but feel they were speaking to me. What are you saying exactly when you wear them? I mean, yes, you're saying FUCK OFF but what else? Are you enjoying secretly knowing your genitals are telling your boss/fellow commuters/family to fuck off? (Yes) (Obviously). I want some.
On Sunday afternoon after an abortive attempt to go to the cinema (thwarted by a series of diversions cunningly installed by the STIB in many unexpected places), we went around the local brocante, though this is a far too classy word for people just dumping shit out of their houses onto a tarpaulin and asking a punchy €5 for it. We played our usual "find the worst item" game, but since I spotted a hank of what appeared to be human hair (blonde, very dry) in the first two minutes, it became somewhat pointless. There is a new sinkhole in the brocante hosting street and a madwoman tried to engage us in conversation about it, the gist of which was that it wouldn't have happened in Ancient Rome.
Is anyone else watching that Life Swap thing on BBC2? I am very much enjoying it. It is not at all like Wife Swap because all the people on it so far have been thoughtful, open and interesting and not attention hungry maniacs who want to fight about everything in sweaty incoherence. I don't have anything clever to say about it, I am just enjoying (esp the guy from Guyana who said that a British sandwich was "like an old dead fish").
Woken at 5:30 by dog coming into bedroom, which is his new neurosis: he comes in early in the morning and either stands next to the bed staring at me whilst licking his lips or clicks round and round in scrabbly pawed anxiety until one of us cracks and gets up to shout at him. There is a third option which is shut bedroom door, but then he leans against it, scrabbles, and cries. Husband thinks it is because he has developed a fear of the bin lorry, but it's not as if he only does it on bin days. He does it EVERY day, possibly because the bin lorry might be coming. I might need to do some kind of bin lorry flooding therapy with him to get past this eg. spend the day at the local dump which could well be considerably more productive than a normal day for me, on current performance.
Actually, he has been strange all day, sitting under or next to my chair, staring at me and trembling, which is very distracting when you are trying to scratch your infected mosquito bites and read the entire internet. I just went to empty the washing machine and he followed me, then hid behind a sheet and stared out at me, just two mournful eyes and nose visible. Now he's back, standing and/or staring.
He looks so tired, as well he might.
1. Someone is stuck in the abandoned mine shaft and I have failed to understand;
2. The beginning of the end, though he is only nine and whippets are supposed to live for ever;
3. A Phase.
If whatever it is continues he's going to need one of those glade pet prozac plug ins they advertise on telly. I have long wondered if they work on people too, perhaps I will finally get the chance to find out?
Best French expressions from Le Soir/Le Vif on Twitter today
Pénis de troll
Engouement pour des gâteaux en forme de crotte
How are you?