Spouting forth

After weeks of graft I have temporarily relocated (guess where?). I could have named this entry 'on the piss' or 'taking the piss' but I guess this blog community has certain levels of decorum that should be respected.

I don't much like writing in the 'first person' anymore. I don't want to bore people (or expose myself) with the difficulties or joys of living, running and managing my own life. I'll keep that for my personal 'growth (or not) journal' and share it with my gohonzon . Nor do I want to get distracted by trivia, like trying to assess why a less-than-half-a-metre-high statue has become the definitive icon of Brussels, or the challenges of negotiating Brussels' public transit ticketing system.

But it is nice to hear, speak and eat French again. Je me sens a l'aise (I feel at ease). Sadly - French kissing has not yet been part of my Brussels' experience.

I realise that I have relocated here at the worst possible time of year; when everyone and their dog is going on holiday. All the civil society things I would like to join in with are closed for around for 4-6 weeks. The local newsagent/'tabac' is shut for a (catch this) a SIX WEEK holiday. Man, I wish I had the chutzpah to close my business down for that long. (I also wish I had a house in the country to 'retire to' for that period too - but let's not go there). I do have a certain (and not very well disguised) admiration for that gallic gall. It's a valuable antidote to the 'do do do' nature of Dutch culture. I hope it rubs off a bit on me during my stay here.