Betwixt The Bluest Blueberry Muffins In the World

The Last leg. Or knee as my most dear friend Marianne Wit might put it, for sous chef baker raconteur and all round good surgery battered egg has hopefully just had her flipping final operation for a long long time and has been on crutches serving me home made delish muffins and tea at her domicile in Den Haag, aka The Hague…..

Not too much time to explore very much after the journey from hell (or Hamburg as we have to call it, via Amersfart, the interchange station either no lifts escalators or taste in scaffolding)…..

But hey we’re in Holland and they love beer of course, especially Belgian???? Oh well. Average pint cost in Norway £9 London £7.50 Stockholm £6.50 and Den Haag £4.50.

So it’s therefore bye bye Holland and a massively efficient early couple of trains to Brussels which is in Belgium by the way which means one stop before the end of the journey and Belgian Ticket Überleutenant inspects tickets moving an elderly couple from the rather basic first class carriage to second because “you need BLUE seats, SECOND CLASS. You’re in RED seats, FIRST CLASS. Yes, I am pathetic.”

Which brings us to the final stop before Lady Pancras rears her peculiar head.

Brussels. Brussels. Bloody Disgusting Revolting. Disgraceful. Dangerous. Urineladen Dealerbeholden Odourhateful Bloody Brussels.

I’ve mentioned this place in my wanderings and writings many times.

Now, the station areas around my last two locations Hamburg (flipping frightening) and Den Haag (massive building site) aren’t ideal. But this place this Brussels sadly without the sprouts (which would at least improve the smell) is the biggest dump on Earth (“think that bomb and poverty ravaged places can outdo Brussels”-non-Existent Ed.). Well yes, but the city itself from various visits my ex and I made to a former friend, despite possessing a quaint central Square and a couple of decent fridge magnet shops, well it’s simply Scheisse. Ghastly. Horrible. Grim. As for the area around the Station, and the Station itself, well if you were to infuse all that’s grim with all that smells and looks atrocious, then TRIPLE it, you’re getting on the right lines…..

Well thing is…FOUND A BAR (nearby as it happens) and then FOUR HOURS LATER after the most appalling queueing system on the planet and no seating or drinking areas at the Eurostar terminal…it was on the train to London with some rather grim cold salad and a third of a bottle of something, though fortunately sitting opposite a most enjoyable chatting guest, one of the UK’s most famous improv musicians (Mr Evan Parker) which was an utter joy….

Home after this trip of immense contrasts means a London winter, with a Northern Christmas, followed by probably two months of more cold and wet wet wet….

You patient dearest Reader has put up with more drivel again…and all I can finally utter is….adieu, farewell and Auf Wiedersehen, Petal.

Chris M, December, London 2024