Happy

I would like to thank all my readers for their support over the past 10 or so months. I still intend to post the odd bit of writing, albeit not as regularly as I have done. A Happy and Healthy New Year to all of you.

Seasons Greetings

Revenge of the Little Black Dogs...

We had the windows in our house replaced the other day. It turned out to be the coldest day in Belgium since the great freeze of 1562, when '...men froze where they stood in their trousers...' and icebergs floated down the Ijzer. So having your windows taken out and laying your home open to the elements was not ideal. Sure there was a certain novelty in walking around with a hat, coat and gloves on and not having to go outside. Having the front door open all day, or should I say having no front door all day, presented a peculiar problem. Sometime during the morning one of the workmen asked me if I had a dog. I followed his gaze and saw standing in the middle of our living room a French Bulldog, wagging its poor excuse for a tail and looking like he owned the place. He didn't take much coaxing out of the room and out again into the street, but as soon as I walked back into the house, he followed me in. The next time I got him out into the street I looked around for someone who looked like they had lost a dog. Rather annoyingly the only person I saw looked like they had lost a cat. After some minutes of me walking into the house and the dog following me in I reverted to shouting at it and waving my arms in a menacing manner, which wasn't very menacing to be honest. Waving your arms around only makes you look like a demented bird trying to fly. Eventually the door was put on and the dog had to stand on his back legs whilst his front legs were resting against the wall, and look into the house through the window-less holes at the front of the house. However, he took every opportunity during the day to nip into the house every time the front door was open. I don't know who's dog he is, I've not seen him on my travels. Towards lunch time he left the front of our house and trotted off down the road, the conspiracy theorist in me wondered if he was going to report to ninja-yappy. He came back in the afternoon, had a dump on the drive (not easy to clear up on a loose stone floor) and disappeared down the road, never to be seen again. I hope...

News from the Wild West of Flanders...One

He is black, furry and as big as a small dog. Actually, he is a small dog. Half Ninja, half yappy. He lives in a cafe and hides in shrubbery, waiting for an un-suspecting victim to pass. I have been aware of him ever since I first walked past him because he stepped out of the shrubbery and onto the pavement. I suspect he had got bored waiting for someone to pass and decided to stretch his legs because as soon as he saw me he darted back to his hiding place and tried to blend in with his surroundings. I gave him a knowing look as I walked past, and he looked at me with a sheepish expression on his face, which isn't easy for a dog.

Since that day I have passed his hiding place with an air of alpha-male superiority, always giving him the eyeball as I passed and watching as he tried to back even further into the shadows.

In recent weeks I have walked a different path. Eager to explore my surroundings for connecting paths and roads. Today I walked past the cafe, my mind on the podcast I was listening to, yappy-ninja completely forgotten about. I bet he couldn't believe his luck as he watched me walk towards him. I hate being surprised, whether it's by someone saying 'surprise!' and handing you a present or a dog suddenly jumping out at you and going 'YAP! YAP! YAP!' Luckily, I wasn't holding anything breakable. Had I been carrying a box of eggs or maybe a tray of crystal glasses (as you do when you go for a walk) then they would have made a nice accompaniment to my shout of 'WAAAH!' and my arms suddenly shooting up into the air. To be honest, the dog couldn't have bitten my hands even if it had been standing on a box, it's that small! Heart in mouth, I resisted the urge to kick the things arse as it saunterd...saunterd!...back into the shrubbery.

Party

Peanuts.
Mini-Sausage rolls.
Crisps.
Cheese and Pineapple on a stick.
Cocktail Sausages.
Chicken Nuggets.
Mini-Pork Pies.
Cheesy Nibbles.
Sandwiches.
Dips and Bread Sticks for Dipping.
Voluvents.
Vegetables tastefully sliced into sticks.
None of the above were available at the party I went to last saturday. People of Belgium, party food is not a bowl of soup! Party food is peanuts and crisps and all of the above. Beer loves peanuts, wine adores a chicken nugget. It one of the fundamental laws of nature which I sometimes find missing in Belgium. I have never been to a party or social gathering in this country and seen the merest hint of a bowl of nuts. I even had to take my own to a party last Christmas!
I dislike parties intensely. I don't mix well, especially without a pile of nuts cupped in my hand. It's not you dear party goer, it's me. I find it hard to talk to people I don't know. It's always been the same. I can remember pretending to be asleep whenever my parents took my siblings and I to friends houses because I was too shy to talk to them. I tried this on saturday but my wife kept on waking me up!
The party on saturday started off particularly difficult for me. The first thing the host said to me was:
"I read your first 2 posts, then forgot all about it."
Which was heart warming and inspirational.
I was then faced with a long table full of local politicians. (Don't ask)
The first thing anyone said to me was about the outcry in Britain about the Belgian bloke taking up Presidential duties as head of the EU.
In boxing parlance I was immediately fighting on the ropes.
Should I have explained that I don't represent the British People in any official capacity? Or should I have just explained that the news article they were referring to was written in a newspaper that still has front page headlines about princess Diana, over a decade after her death?
I took the later option but only after venturing an opinion about Belgian politics and its habit of changing Prime Ministers every year or so.
I think that round was drawn.
Despite the lack of peanuts, the evening turned out ok. I found myself in the company of people who I sort of know but only meet at parties. We soon discovered a mutual interest in books and music and spent a few hours waxing lyrical about our favourites. We made the long journey back home hungry, sober and with a long list of books to read, most of which I couldn't remember to save my life.

Welke Taal etc....

Doesn't time fly? One minute I'm complaining about fireworks and the next two weeks have gone by! I guess you can expect more of the same in the future. In this part of Belgium they talk with a funny accent. I think I've already said this before. I talk with a funny accent wherever I go on this side of the English Channel. My understanding of the dutch language hasn't really got any better. Why? Because people don't ever speak their language the way that foreigners learn it. Sure, it's quite easy to get the gist of what people mean when they talk about something whether you can understand the words or not. A trick I learnt for using at parties is to nod and smile, follow the talkers facial expressions. The problem usually comes when they ask you a question. I was standing in a queue this morning in Delhaize and an old chap in front of me placed a divider down between my food and his. I said thank you, because I'm polite, and I followed his facial expressions to register the correct response. Slightly mischievous smile and his statement ending on a slighty raised note indicating to me that he was making a slight joke ending in a question. I went through the appropriate responses and chose to answer in a small hearty chuckle and "Ja". Well he looked at me as if I had just kicked his dog, moved his food as far away as he could from mine and muttered something under his breath.
So, that happens sometimes. I had a man ring the doorbell last week and stood listening to him for a good 2 minutes before telling him that I didn't understand a word he was saying. So he repeated it. We both silently agreed that him telling me again wouldn't make a blind bit of difference and we parted on amicable terms. I guessed he was trying to sell me something, as were the scouts who turned up just this past saturday. The youngest, red of cheek, held up a manky bag of bread rolls and asked me something in the kind of voice that made me wonder if the older, taller scout behind him was poking him with a stick.
I guessed he was asking me if I wanted to buy his bread rolls, although why he would think that I don't know. Maybe he had found them outside on the pavement and was doing a good deed by asking me"are these bread rolls yours?I found them on the pavement". I didn't have to search far for the appropriate response this time.
At the end of the queue I was in this morning I encountered a new problem. I always talk in Dutch, or something similar to Dutch. I just need a few stock words...ja, nee, bedankt. That will usually suffice. This morning I had luncheon vouchers to use.

Me: Ik heb maaltijd cheques...ses euros.
Check out lady: Ok that will be six please.
Me: Een..
Check out lady: One..
Me: Twee...
Check out lady: Two...

I suddenly found myself losing the power of thought. She continued to speak in English and I continued to mumble in Dutchney. It was all starting to confuse me. She was speaking English and I was speaking Dutch. A part of me was telling me that it's ok to speak English now, she has found you out...but I couldn't. We had the scenario of me bidding her 'goede dag' whilst she bid me 'goodbye'...I left the store grinning and feeling slightly ridiculous for some reason.
How did she know I was English, my pronunciation was perfect...ahem...maybe she had x-ray vision and could see my Union flag underpants.

Bang!

Remember remember the fifth of November Gunpowder, treason and plot.

I see no reason why gunpowder, treason

Should ever be forgot...

And it hasn't been forgotten. In the year 1605 Guy Fawkes was caught trying to blow up the Houses of Parliament (no comment), tried and convicted as a traitor and then hung, drawn and quartered. A year later the king and members of Parliament commissioned a sermon to be read every November 5th and the above rhyme is one such example. It's a rhyme I learnt as a child and one that is still repeated today.

It was compulsory to celebrate Guy Fawkes night until 1859 and I suppose because the populace had to celebrate, then they decided to do it in style. In time, people began to make effigies to burn on bonfires and when fireworks became more readily available then they too were implemented into the celebrations. As children we would make a guy from old clothes, stuffed with newspaper and place a mask made from the same pulpy paper they used to make egg boxes from on its head. The guy would be taken to a good spot, usually the Red Lion pub, and my brother and me would demand 'a penny for the guy' from passers-by and the occasional drunk. The making of a guy was an integral part of earning money to buy fireworks but to be quite honest all of our money went on Black Jacks and Fruit Salads in the sweet shop. I've not seen anyone with a guy for many years, I expect it still goes on, but in the 70's you couldn't walk along the high street without some snotty nosed kid thrusting his hand in front of your face and demanding money.

Confession time.

I hate Fireworks. A close encounter with the wrong end of a sparkler turned me off at a very early age. Ok, maybe hate is too strong a word, I don't stand at the window shaking a fist at a passing rocket, but I do dislike them. I could always take them or leave them and the only time in recent years that I have attended a party on fireworks night resulted in a lot of beer drinking and a number of fireworks falling over and chasing screaming kids around the garden. It was a very surreal night...bloody funny at the time though.

I think it's time we stopped tormenting Guy Fawkes, he has been punished enough. Besides, I see today that MP's in Britain want to award themselves a £40,000 a year pay rise...you can insert your own ending here .............................................................................

Spook!

When I was 10 years old, I picked up a book in my local library which had a satellite photo of the Earth on its cover. However, this was no normal photo because where the North Pole should be was just a black circle which on further investigation by me was the entrance to to the interior of the planet where all sorts of wonderful beings lived, or so the author would have us believe. The Hollow Earth theory is quite an old one but very new to my 10 year self. I borrowed the book and for the next four weeks it sat on the book shelf in my room, unread except for the photos in the centre of the book. I don't know why I remember the book so well. I do have a sort of photographic memory when it comes to books, I may forget a title but I can remember within 20 odd pages if I have read it before. That book, however, got me interested in the paranormal and all things strange. I take that sort of thing with a pinch of salt. I'm a paranormal agnostic, I'll believe it when I see it! Talk to most people in Britain and they can recount a story about something strange that happened to them or someone they know. Britain is, after all, a land full of myth and legend.
I don't have a ghost story to tell you this Halloween. I can tell you the strangest thing to have happened to me, though. This happened a good 10-15 years. I was alone in the house except for my dalmation. I awoke one morning, walked out of my bedroom and noticed my car keys on the mat next to the front door. I didn't think much of this, but thought it a little strange that I hadn't heard them fall, my keyring at that time contained around 5 keys. However, when I picked them up, my front door key was bent at a 45° angle. I am still puzzled by it. The force it takes to bend a yale key would have to be quite deliberate as I would imagine that it is impossible to bend a key like that without trying to. It took some effort to return it to its original shape I can tell you. There are of course plenty of explanations, all of which I'm willing to except, the most obvious one being that I did it without realising I had done it and the least obvious being Uri Geller broke into my house during the night! We had, and still do have, a key hook right next to the door. Hanging up my keys was a force of habit in the same way that putting your seat belt on is when you get in the car. It's automatic. That's my slightly spooky Halloween story. Not exactly going to leave anyone sleeping with the lights on tonight. But, it is the strangest thing that has happened to me and I just thought I'd share it with you.

Happy Halloween

Green and Pleasant

It's already been established in a previous post that our house, is a very, very nice house. The garden isn't too shabby either. I've never been a gardener, the only time I've had green fingers was due to a very nasty skin complaint that I'd rather not talk about. However, I suddenly find myself staring at the plot of land at the back of our house and, well, feel this overwhelming urge to attack it with gardening equipment!
Last sunday, we bought a leaf rake. Yesterday, I entered the floral arena, weapon in hand, and spent a rather pleasant hour making a pile of leaves. I even found a dead shrew! Wow! This gardening lark is actually pretty exciting! I left the shrew on top of the pile of leaves as bait in the hope of attracting more exotic forms of wildlife but so far all I've seen was a neighbours cat pooing near the big shed.
I am determined to grow something in the garden. We both want to grow herbs, so I think that's a good start.

Video of the Day

Link:

Bump

Our house is a very, very nice house...but like the majority of Belgian houses, it is equipped with shutters on the windows. I call them shutters, I'm not entirely sure if that is the correct term. They are not the Alpine variety you get on buildings in Austria, but rather a type of roller blind, usually white and in our house you have to say 'heave ho, heave ho...' when you pull them up as they feel like someone is doing exactly the same thing as you are, on the other end. I'm thinking of using them to work out with.
In my experience I have never seen a house with these sort of shutters in Britain, although I do remember seeing a badly made commercial for them at the local cinema every now and then. When fully closed at night, the shutters make the house as dark as the black hole of Calcutta, or maybe some other really dark place. Our bedroom is so dark that you can't see your hand in front of your face. It's not even possible to let your eyes adjust to the darkness.
On occasion I get up in the middle of the night to empty my bladder and not wanting to disturb the household, I creep around as quietly as I can. I could turn the light on in the hallway, but the light switch is of the old variety, a black thing that goes CLICK when you use it. So last night I had to spend a penny and like the secret lemonade drinker ( you might want to google that one) I crept around the house, as quiet as a mouse. On my return to the bedroom, feeling fairly pleased with my ninja abilities, I walked smack bang into the door of our bedroom. In fact, I walked into the thinnest, hardest part of the door. Luckily, I hit it with the hardest part of my body, my head, but the ensuing BONK woke everyone up, whilst almost sending me to sleep with little birdies flying and tweeting around my head. My wife kindly placed a torch on the bedside cabinet for me to use in future...

Video of the Day

Mornings.

I don't have a lot to say for myself today. I took the photo that accompanies this mini-post at about 8.30am this morning. It's not the first time since we have been here in our new home that a picture has been taken of the morning skyline. In Britain we have a saying and it goes like this:
Red sky at night, shepherds delight.
Red sky in the morning, shepherds warning.
It's usually a pretty accurate little rhyme. I'm not a meteorologist so I'm not sure why.

UPDATE: 11.28 am... Bright sunshine...slight breeze...actually, weather near enough the same as the photo.
Just to make a liar out of me...

News Flash!

Two big spoons missing for the past 14 days have been found safe and well in a draw located in the kitchen. A police spokesman has described the spoons as being tired but in remarkably good condition. The spoons are now back with the rest of the over sized cutlery and are said to be eager to return to work as soon as possible.

Video of the Day

Misplaced

Anyone who has moved house will be well aware of the pleasures of finding a space for all of the stuff that you accumulate over the years. When people move house in the movies they are usually relocated by competent looking men, dressed in brown overalls, who carry everything into the house and place it where they are ordered to by the lady of the house. Within 30 minutes the house looks like it has never been empty and every piece of furniture looks like it has been made for the very spot that it finds itself in. The good looking and slightly tired couple who have just been moved relax on the sofa with a gin and tonic...slice of lime...and some ice.
In real life you put everything into the nearest available space and watch with dismay as that space becomes less and less available. Once the removal lorry has been emptied, the kettle, which has been lovingly transported in the car along with the posh wine glasses, is produced and a nice cup of tea is made. The removal men would like a coffee. Although we never drink coffee, we have a box that we keep for such an occasion. One of the men would like sugar. We don't take sugar with our tea and so the sugar is kept at the back of a cupboard, on a shelf, next to moth balls and rat poison. So sugar is basically a non-essential and was packed in an unmarked box. I opened and investigated 4 boxes before the removal man told me not to bother. 4 boxes!!
Over the next few days and weeks a familiar pattern emerges. A box is opened, looked into, an object is lifted out and I scratch my head and wonder what the hell it is and where should I put it. I usually put it back in the box and go onto the next one. Because of this action, we now have a sizable summer house(big shed) and a cellar full of boxes and black sacks.
Yesterday I spent 5 hours painstakingly going through the boxes and bags looking for a pair of large spoons that we use to dish up rice and whatever we have with it. They are not expensive items, but they are items that we use a lot. I don't remember packing them. I know they are not in the old apartment because I went through it with a fine toothed comb (British expression meaning I had a bloody good look round!). But I cannot find them. They are not in any of the bags or boxes. They are not in any of the suitcases. They are not hiding in any draws that reside in cabinets. They have disappeared.
I do miss them...
By the way, I have never lived in a house with a cellar. Never. It's rather exciting and mysterious. It looks old and has a window, which is at least 6 feet below ground level. You can open the window a little bit but what's the point?

Video of the Day

The Bike...War is Over

I've spent a bit of time writing about my dislike, some would say hatred, of the humble bicycle. I may have come across as someone in favour of special bike prisons, like the one in the photograph that accompanies this post. Well I want to make it clear here and now that I don't hate bicyles, in fact, I have just returned from a short exploratory ride of some of the roads that surround my new home.
No, I don't hate bicycles. I hate the fact that cyclists in Belgium have some sort of idiotic immunity that allows them to act like idiots. This is not their fault, I understand it is some sort of law in Belgium that makes some people ride their bikes without brains engaged (please note that some is italics to bring to your attention that I'm not talking about all cyclists...just most of them. Any angry cyclist should put themselves in the 'he's not talking about me' bracket).
The first indication of what I call 'the suicidal tendencies of the Belgian cyclist' came to me on the same day I arrived in the country. We were driving down the road and to my amazement I watched cyclists riding across the main road and across side roads without a care in the world. I found this rather strange. It was almost as if people were playing a game of 'dare' with car drivers, as in, 'I dare you to hit me with your car'. I was told that drivers in Belgium must always be on the lookout for cyclists as they have more rights than the driver when it comes to a car vs bicycle accident. In a perfect world this would be a good, if not great idea. But it's not a perfect world and people are definitely not perfect. This rule has simply made the Belgian cyclist believe he is indestructible and is a great example of the blame culture that is developing around the world.
If it's always the other persons fault then I don't have to be responsible for my own actions.
If you are unlucky enough to live in a fairly big town in Belgium then you can expect this sort of thing:
1) A pavement split into 2, one for pedestrians and both for cyclists. I say both because although there should be a separate bicycle path and foot path, most cyclists treat the 2 paths as fair game. Many cyclists take their bikes shopping. That's fine, except when they stand them in the middle of the footpath, which is usually much narrower than the bike path.
2) Motor Scooters are allowed to use the cycle paths. So you have a vehicle that travels at speeds of up to 30mph being driven very close to where you are walking. Believe me when I say that someone riding one of these things can't help but ride it fast.
3) Tour de France wannabe's. These are usually lycra clad men who think they are in a race with every other cyclist on the cycle path. Unwilling to ride around them they torment the offending cyclist with a ting ting on their bell. Unfortunately the offending rider is usually an old man or lady and the sound of the bell seems to affect their ability to ride as they head at a slow speed, handle bars and wheels wobbling furiously as they try to get out of the speed freaks way. Where do they ride to? Why, the foot path of course!
4) Children. Kids are the best. They ride with their friends, usually 4 abreast. Taking up the whole footpath and in my experience the worst of these is the teenage girl. Most kids swerve out of your way when they approach. Teenage girls will usually aim the bike at you and then expect you to throw yourself against the wall as she rides gracefully past. If you don't then you are treated to a look that could curdle milk.
5) Zebra crossings. A cyclist thinks that because they are not a motorist then they don't have to follow any rules when it comes to someone waiting to cross the road. As an avid walker, I have on more than one occasion had to dodge out of the way of a bicylce as I have crossed the road. Admittedly, on some of the newer bike paths, there are traffic lights that tell a cyclist to stop when a car has to. But usually they are ignored.
So you see, I'm not anti bike. I'm anti cyclist. Or, maybe I'm anti whoever made these laws up allowing the cyclist to disengage brain when riding.
As I said, I had a short ride earlier, on the road, because there are no cycle paths here. I had to be aware of other road users, moving over slightly to allow a passing car as much space as I could safely give. Stopping at a T-junction and checking that it was safe to continue. That sort of thing. It was cold but sunny. I could get used to cycling again!
The photo was actually taken at Rock Werchter earlier in the year. It amuses me than thousands of people would go to a rock festival by bike. That cycle park was one of many.

Video of the Day

Moved

Moving house. What a pain in the bum! During my 45 years, I have moved house a few times and I've got to say that it doesn't get any easier. My first, and I hope last, experience of moving from an apartment was something I have no wish to repeat!
We now find ourselves in a place I have heard described as 'the wild west' and 'that godforsaken place'. Obviously by people who have never visited the region because I love it here! We have gone from being close to the Dutch border to very close to the French border and an hour and 20 minutes closer to the ferry terminal at Dunkirk...I can almost smell the fish and chips!
I suppose it's all a matter of perspective. Some people find that living in towns to be perfect for them, whilst others prefer life in the country. Not only do I find this part of Belgium pleasing on the eye, I also love the lack of people here.
We enjoy going to the cinema. In Belgium they have the Kinepolis, a fantastic chain of cinemas which are, I'm sorry to say, better than anything I've ever been in in Britain. We used to visit the Kinepolis in Antwerp, which involved a 30-45 minutes drive and then a slow drive around the car park, looking for a space and finally hordes of people doing people stuff. Last night we decided to visit our local Kinepolis to see the movie District 9 (a fantastic movie!). The journey took us 7 minutes and we parked straight away. We had pre-booked our tickets online but needn't have bothered as the cinema was only a quarter full. I'm not saying that we didn't enjoy our visits to Antwerp, but our Kortrijk visit was a damn sight easier!
As I said, we are close to the French border. We are even closer to the Wallonian border; Wallonia is where the people speak French instead of Dutch. It just so happens that our nearest Hubo (DIY store) was in Wallonia, so we jumped in the car and paid it a visit. It's very strange to drive through a country and suddenly find the street signs change from, for example, Kerk Straat to Rue de Marche. When we lived in Malle one would often see Dutch number plates on cars, now we see French number plates. After our visit to Hubo, we popped into a supermarket next door, a French chain I had never seen before. My wife said what I was thinking:" It's like being on holiday!" The shelves were stocked with French goods as well as those more familiar to me, everyone was speaking in French and it was a little bit surreal. All this just a 5 minutes drive from our home.

A Brief Break

I hope you have enjoyed the Steptoe and Son videos this week. I find as I get older, I get more and more nostalgic. Steptoe was a big favourite of mine when I was growing up. I haven't seen this particular episode for a good few years but I think it's still funny. I was watching Life on Mars the other night with my wife, as you probably know, the show is set in 1973 and I suddenly found myself ridiculously nostalgic over the appearance of the humble Blakey. A blakey was one of 2 things for anyone growing up in Britain in the 1970's. It may have been the Inspector who gave bus driver Butler and his mates a hard time in the comedy show On the Buses, his catch phrase of "I hate you Butler" was a staple of impressionists (that would be the comedians, not the painters).
The blakey I refer to is, or was, I have no idea if they still make them, a small piece of metal shaped like a segment of satsuma and nailed into the heel of shoes to help save the heel from wearing out. For school boys in the 1970's, a blakey ranked along with a rubiks cube as the must have item. A blakey produced the most wonderful clicking noise when you walked, the school corridor would often sound as if an army of tap dancers was walking along it. But I think the real reason for the blakeys popularity was that, when struck quickly and with some force on the floor, it would produce a spark! Of course parents found that their children's shoes were mysteriously wearing out even faster with the use of a blakey than without!
Well, as stated earlier in the week, we are moving house this weekend. Because of this I shall not be posting for a week or so.

Video of the Day

Video of the Day

Cheerio!

We move house this coming Saturday. We are moving to a place where, so I am told, the local people speak in a strange accent and are difficult to understand...regular readers may want to add their own punch line below:

.......................................................................................

Boom, boom!
Because of the move, I decided that I would visit a few old haunts. It didn't get off to such a good start yesterday morning when I made the mistake of taking a different road to the one I usually take and promptly got lost. I've written about this before, but the roads do not work properly in Belgium. They mess with your mind. The road I wanted was shut off for road works and so I could either turn back or take the next road which seemed run parallel to the one I wanted to take. Well, it was a lovely early Autumn day and so I took the next road. Anyone who watches the tv show Lost may find the idea of being able to move an entire island a bit far fetched. Anyone who has enjoyed a walk in the Belgian countryside wont find it so strange! That's the only way I can explain ending up where I did!
I arrived on a busy main road that I didn't recognise, I could either go left or right-technically I could go back the way I had come but I had passed a group of shifty looking farm workers earlier and didn't want to look like I was lost. Lucky for me I chose the right way and 15 minutes later found myself in Oostmalle, which surprised me a lot because it seemed as if I had reached it in no time at all.
I took the bus into Antwerp this morning with the intention of stocking up on some hard to get Asian cooking sauces. It continues to be a really pleasent month here in Belgium and after 30 minutes on a very full bus I just had to get off because I was sweating in a very alarming way! Also I thought that the long walk into the centre of town would be an inexpensive way to experience the delights of Morocco without actually leaving Belgium! I have found over the years that once I move out of a region I very rarely go back unless I really have to. We are moving a fair distance away and I don't think I shall be seeing much of Antwerp in the years to come. It could be said that in my mind I had already moved away from the area because today I only saw it's bad side and not it's good. I bought my goods from China Town and walked on down to the Groenplaats, popped into Fnac to have a look at the new English books, walked past the waffle sellers and realised that I would never have the waffle and cream I'd always promised myself and then spent a penny in the Staadfestzaal, surely one of the most beautiful shopping Malls in the world and well worth a visit if you are ever in need of a toilet!
The photo that accompanies this post was taken in the central train station in Antwerp, another beautiful building and worth 15 minutes of your attention should you ever visit the city.

Video of the Day

A blast from the past, the first of three posts this week. Steptoe and Son is a muched loved sit-com from the 1960's and 70's. Enjoy!

Signs

It's common knowledge that Belgium is made up of those that speak Dutch and those that speak French and there is also a small corner where they speak German. The official language's of Belgium are Dutch, French and German.
If you pay a visit to the cinema then you will be treated to both French and Dutch sub-titles and television stations are split into the two languages. Dutch broadcasters show programmes in Dutch and English whilst French broadcasters show programmes that are dubbed into French or are originally French.
I still find it strange that a country should be split by 2 languages, but what is really strange is the fact that place names are sometimes completely different.
If you squint at the photo above then you may just see the name Mons, British people will be familiar with this name as the place where a big World War 1 battle took place; the same can be said of Ypres. However, in Flanders you will not see Mons or Ypres on any road signs. Instead you will see Bergen and Ieper. Any football fans driving to a match at Standard Liege would be well advised to look for Luik, because that is what Liege is called in Flanders. Looking for Antwerp? Then you may want to head towards Anvers.
I could go on.
I'm lucky that I usually have my wife with me when we drive anywhere, but I can imagine that if you don't know about this then it could be quite confusing. Of course with GPS systems so popular then it is hard to get lost...but not impossible. We borrowed a GPS from a friend when we went to Sweden. It's a great bit of kit, but it does have a habit of telling you that you need to turn in 100 metres and then seems to take forever to count down to zero, leaving me driving past the junction I should have taken because it was still on 40 metres to go when I reached the turn off! I blame the fact that it is a European GPS and uses metres and kilometres rather than the much better Imperial system of feet and miles. By the time I've worked out how many feet to a metre we are heading somewhere else!

Video of the Day

Cook

I like books. I like book shops. A few weeks ago we found ourselves in Waterstones, which is not unusual as we always try to visit whenever we are in England. I was busy trying to decide whether to buy 2666 by Roberto Bolano - the book is this years must have novel. I did buy it, and think that if, as some reviewers said, this book is the novel reinvented, then god help us! I found it boring and lacking in any soul. Maybe it lost something in the translation from its original Spanish.

So while I was being impressed by the wonderful reviews of 2666 my wife was flicking through the new Jamie Oliver book and occasionally showing me a recipe, which I was glancing at with little interest at first, but found myself drawn to after having my senses slowly bludgeoned by photo after photo of very tasty looking dishes. At half price it seemed too good an offer to miss and so we bought it. Back in Belgium it was soon tested out, we had a pack of macaroni that needed to be used and so my wife made his macaroni cheese dish. Quite nice indeed.

Over the weekend it was decided that we would try the Jambalyo. I was waiting for the Liverpool v West Ham match to start on tv and so I decided to prepare the different bits, of which there was quite a lot; smoked sausage, salami, chicken and chilli peppers amongst other things. Well one thing led to another, I poured myself a big glass of Aussie red, my tribute to Keith Floyd, and actually cooked my first ever dish straight out of a cook book!

I do have a small repertoire of culinary delights, my chilli con carne is quite spectacular...although I'm far from earning my first Michelin star!

It was quite easy to make, but it was touch and go for a while because there was a period of about 15 minutes when I didn't have to do anything and so to amuse myself I started flicking through the pages of Jamie's book and found a dish called southern sausage stew, or something like it. I started to read what it involved and realised I had to add some more ingredients to my Jambalayo. Then the football started.

Football + booze = attention elsewhere.

When I returned to the cooking, it took me 5 minutes to realise that I was no longer following the Jambalayo recipe but the southern sausage stew! Being a little bit squiffy, I was only a little bit surprised when the book told me to add things that I had already added. It was my wife who saved the day because I couldn't find the flour, which wasn't needed in the recipe I was supposed to be cooking! In the end it was a success, not perfect, but another dish to add to my expanding list.

Video of the Day

Want

Nice logo. Sadly, here in Belgium we are not allowed to use Spotify. Not available in our area...apparently. Why not? Something to do with copyrights. That's a bit weird in this day and age but is something that is happening more and more on the internet.

Spotify allows you to listen to almost any track you want to. Simple but wonderful. You can create your own playlists and listen to your favourite tracks to your your hearts content. But not in Belgium.

Playlist is another piece of software that allows your to create...erm, playlists. It's actually what I used to use for my extremely unpopular Radio Free Belgium blog. I went to put some new music up a few days ago only to find that it is now no longer available in my area. What's going on? Belgium hasn't ceased to exist. We haven't suddenly found ourselves in the 1970's like the time travelling show Life on Mars...although it feels like it sometimes. So why isn't it available in my bloody area?? The joke of it is that people can illegally download the songs that they WANT to listen to legally if Spotify was available!

The record companies should be working hand in hand with sites like Spotify to get peoples music to the masses. When I listen to music online I like to discover new groups, I don't want to listen to Coldplay, Elbow, U2 or The Killers because I have their cd's already. I wouldn't have discovered artists like Josh Rouse, Ryan Adams and The Decemberists if it wasn't for the internet. You wont hear their music often if at all on British radio stations but after hearing their music I bought their cd's...The Hazards of Love by The Decemberists has to be the cd of the year in my opinion.

To tie in with my reference to Life on Mars, there is one great website I have found which while it isn't the same as Spotify, it is still excellent and my favourite music site at the moment. It's called 8tracks and is just jam packed with good music. People upload 8 songs from their own music collection and complete strangers like you and me can listen to them. Some of these mini albums are really rather good and to clarify an earlier point, I have been listening to a few 8tracks as I've been writing and found 2 groups, Mimicking Birds and Miracle Fortress, that I will be looking out for in future!

http://www.8tracks.com/ but be warned people of Belgium, I don't know for how long it will be available in our area...

Video of the Day

"I've not felt this well in ages..."

As last words go "I've not felt this well in ages" has to rank up there with:
"Some of us are trying to sleep, you know!"- my great great Uncle Alfred who was camping in the next field at Little Big Horn and went to complain about the noise.
Keith Floyd died yesterday at the age of 65. His famous last words were spoken after a meal which included champagne, oysters and an after dinner fag ( that's English slang for a cigarette).
Floyd was a tv chef.

Printers! Are these things deliberately made to annoy us? I have spent the last half hour watching two members of the household trying to get a printer to print. I gave up on printers a good few years ago after buying my 3rd one and getting it to work well for maybe a few days and then...nothing! What's worse than silence is when the printer will make a noise as if it is going to print and then either falls silent again or just sucks in the sheet of paper and it rolls out the other side completely blank! Printers...as annoying as Swedish car parking machines!

Video of the Day

Me (Cleese) and the car park machine (car)

In Sweden - Park

I like to think that I'm fairly up to date with modern technology. I can programme a VCR and work a fax machine just as well as the smartest University graduate. I may not know what an mp1 or mp2 is, but I'm listening to an mp3 right now, as I write this...ok, so it is The Beatles, but they are all over the news media at the moment and you do have to admit that some of their stuff is still very fresh, even 40 years after it was written.
Over the years I've used hundreds of different car parks and I've never had a problem paying for my ticket. The machines are all pretty much the same, sure the slot where you put the money in might be in a different place on some versions, but generally they are familiar to the car park user and designed so that even the hard of thinking can use them. Our hotel in Stockholm had decided to sell their car park to someone else, so even though the car parking spaces were right outside of the hotel entrance, they denied all responsibility for them.
My wife and I decided to get the cases up into our room and then I went down to pay for the parking. Armed with a pocket full of credit cards I went to a machine exactly the same as the one in the photo which accompanies this post. Looks innocent enough does it not?
1. Insert credit card
2. Look at screen
3. Scratch head
4. Remove card

Hmm....
1. Insert credit card the other way up
2. Look at screen
3. Scratch head
4. Swear
5. Remove card

REPEAT ALL OF THE ABOVE FOR THE NEXT 15 MINUTES.

There are not too many combinations of things to try when it comes to credit cards. I am always under the impression that the further away I am away from Britain, not only will it take longer for the transaction to go through but occasionally the data that is read from my card may get a bit scrambled. Also, whilst I am willing to accept that artificial intelligence may well be superior to my own, I'm not willing to give in without a fight.
The real problem was that I couldn't make head nor tail of what was written on the screen. Even the diagrams were unhelpful and seemed to bear no relation to what I wanted from the machine.
I finally had to swallow my manly pride and go and ask the receptionist for help. She rather unhelpfully directed me to another machine which was located about five minutes walk away. It was exactly the same as the other machine and to be honest, one attempt at getting a ticket from it should have been enough...my wife found me on my knees, beating my head against the button which was supposed to deliver me a ticket.
My wife speaks 4 languages but unfortunately she doesn't speak Swedish...she does however speak common sense and she led me back to the receptionist and she asked her to do it for us, which she happily did, all the while wondering why I had a round indentation in the centre of my forehead.

Video of the Day

England qualified for next years World Cup Finals, last night. Ok, so I know it's not a comedy video but seeing my favourite teams win always makes me smile!

More Greetings...

A few days ago we were invited to a small soiree, my wife's nephew was celebrating his 19th birthday. I didn't feel like celebrating anything and when I am in that mood then it's best to just lock me away in a darkened room. Way back in April I wrote a post about greeting people and the problems I have with this simple procedure. The same can be said for saying goodbye to people as well. When I can get away with it, I say goodbye to people with a small smile and a slight hand gesture that is not a wave but is meant to leave the person I am gesturing to in no doubt that I am leaving and I am indeed saying goodbye to them and them alone. The hand gesture would be similar to the one I give to car drivers who stop for me at a zebra crossing. It's a friendly gesture, I think, and quite appropriate to use on people you don't know or only know slightly.
This was the way I said goodbye to my brother-in-laws mother a few weeks back. Unfortunately she was already half rising from her chair and holding out her hand. Disaster! She saved the moment by saying something funny about 'Englesman' and I reacted by exuberantly hugging her whilst apologizing.
Still with me?
Cut to Monday.
Me. Grumpy guts. Face like a smacked arse (as my wife said to me).
Enter party.
I have to say now that I'm not the type of person who goes around introducing myself to strangers..."Hi, I'm Mike, Englishman". If there are strangers about then I wait to be introduced and generally ignore them until such time arises.
I was aware that there were people at the far end of the table that I didn't know and so kept my attention firmly fixed to the centre of the table where I was amongst family. Our hosts were busy doing stuff, as you do, and I never actually got introduced to any of the new people. I didn't have a problem with that because I was just happy (in a grumpy sort of way) to just sit there quietly. However, after about 20 minutes it became clear to me that one of the people sitting at the other end of the table was...my brother-in-law's mother!
It's not such a disaster I suppose, but I was in such a foul mood that I felt unable to rescue the situation and of course not being able to communicate adequately made it worse. Even such a simple comment like 'oh hello, I didn't see you there!', is difficult for me. So I just sat there in all my grumpy magnificence and slowly stewed...all night.
I managed to say goodnight to her but was firmly blanked as she left, due I am told, to a hearing problem.
Something else happened that night that happens a lot. When someone learns I'm English, I get treated the same way some people treat people in wheelchairs. It seems to be a rule that if you are in a wheelchair then people will talk to the person pushing it rather than the person sitting in it, as if the wheelchair user is either incapable of speech or incapable of thought. Well I get treated the same way.
I can't speak Dutch too well, but sometimes I do understand with remarkable clarity what is being said and if people talk slowly enough and try not to use long words then they might be surprised to get a response from me...in Dutch...or something like it!

Video of the Day

Loo

We have a small but growing collection of photographs bearing the title ' Public Toilets in Beautiful Places'. So far we have 3, the first was taken in Abel Tasman National Park on New Zealand's south island. Close to a beach, but far from people and houses it was as unexpected as it was welcome. Last year we chanced upon a toilet on a long trail in Bryce Canyon in Utah, surrounded by trees and the red stone buttes common to the area. Whilst in Sweden we came upon a toilet nestled between some trees and close to a hidden cove on one of the many islands that lay off the west coast of the country. Ok, so it's a small collection, one that we don't actively try to build, merely add to it when the situation arises. An even smaller collection was started this year as well, when we visited the small harbour town of Fiskebackskil in Sweden. This would be titled ' Beautiful Toilets in Public Places'. We had spent a few hours visiting the town, and, as you do, we paid a visit to the public toilets before we left. These were the first we had to use in Sweden and I'm not saying you can judge a country by the state of it's toilets but when I walked into mine I was taken aback by the sight of not only how clean it was but also the wallpaper and painting hanging on the walls! I just had take a photo(see photo). I met my wife outside and it was clear that her toilet had been just as nice as mine!
It did make me think about how different it would have been if they had tried that in Britain. I may be wrong, I suspect not, but I don't think a toilet decorated in such a fashion would last 2 hours without some idiot scrawling his name in thick black pen all over the walls.

In England

We ended our honeymoon with a few days camping in the Lake District of England. I enjoy walking. I especially enjoy walking in places of outstanding beauty. In the past few years I have been lucky enough to walk in some wonderful places like the canyons of southwest America and north and south islands of New Zealand, even if England can't beat those places for natural beauty, I believe we can match them. The Lake District in Cumbria is one such place.
There is a real feeling of connection with your environment when you walk in these sort of places, which I think most people never experience. For some people a good walk is the one they take from the supermarket car park to the supermarket.
Hill walking can be exhausting, but the sense of achievement you get from reaching the summit is well worth the effort...and the views are not too shabby either! For the most part, the hills in Cumbria are very 'do-able' for anyone with an average standard of fitness and, I think more importantly, the desire to reach the top. However, we chose to climb two of the more testing hills that the Lake District has to offer.
Helvellyn is the most popular hill or fell, in the Lakes and everyone climbs it for one reason...Striding Edge. Striding Edge is a ridge that, if you chose to walk it, gives the walker a great scrambling experience. Scrambling means that you have to use your hands at some point to aid you as you progress along the route. Sadly, the fell's popularity makes for a less than pleasant climb. It was so busy at times that a bottle neck was created at certain points, with people wanting to progress in both directions! A local man told me later that day that because of the crowds, they only climb Helvellyn in winter. Having said all that, it is still a fantastic fell, and the views are stunning from the top.
For an even better scrambling experience we climbed Blencathra. I have never climbed it before but have long wanted to try my hand at Sharp Edge. Sharp Edge for me was really squeaky bum time, I had never climbed anything like it. We actually descended it, walking down was so steep that you almost felt that you were stepping off the side of the mountain. My wife loved it! She is a natural at scrambling, even though it was only her second time doing it. However, she is svelte like and I am about as athletic as an armchair. We took our time, and met a few people who were even more nervous than me, coming up. As the descent progressed I started to appreciate the complexity of Sharp Edge and by the time we reached the bottom I was no longer a quivering wreck...just quivering. It was amusing really, because we stopped for a rest and some food and suddenly turned into experts on Sharp Edge. People had seen us walking down and were eager to hear how hard it was. I said at the time that I was glad I had done it but not sure if I would like to do it again. Sitting here now, almost a month later, I agree with my wife who said it would be nice to try it from the other direction.
We were blessed with good weather, the north west of England can be very wet. Our camping experience turned out to be a positive one, we found ourselves a really nice campsite with stunning views of the fells and good facilities. The on-site cafe became our regular feeding hole, so good was it's food.

In Denmark-Part 2

As I said in part 1, Copenhagen was a bustling, busy city and I'm sure it wasn't all down to the Gay festival. Of course it was the height of summer and a weekend. We found ourselves walking to the botanical gardens and it was here that we found some peace and quiet. Close by the the gardens was the royal palace of Rosenborg. I admit ignorance concerning Rosenborg. It was a large but uninspiring building who's appearance belied the fact that inside was a veritable cornucopia of treasures! Although the throne room was rather special, we particularly enjoyed the paintings that lined the stairways. Portraits of royalty (I think) on leaping horses were laugh out loud funny and well worth the entrance fee alone. I would recommend Rosenborg for a visit, we found it charming and also crowd free. The Tivoli is probably Copenhagen's second most famous landmark after the little mermaid statue. The park contains restaurants, bars and a fun fair...and lots of drunk people! I have never seen such a lot of drunk people in such a small area, even in England! When I say drunk, I mean floppy leg drunk, the kind of drunk when most of your motor skills have been put on stand-by by your brain. I don't mind admitting that we enjoyed a cold beer and some nachos there, and bloody nice it was too! But just the one. We had a nice walk round the place, it is well worth a visit even if, like us, you just go in for a walk around and a beer. We ended up having a good time in Copenhagen, ending the day with a visit to an Italian restaurant before returning to our hotel.

In Denmark is dedicated to Anne, thanks for everything!

Video of the Day

In Denmark part 1

From my brief visit to Denmark it was remarkable how different the country seemed to Sweden. I can honestly say that I have never been to a more crowded place than Copenhagen. I don't like crowds at the best of times, but some of the people there did seem a little strange, men wearing shorts that were too short and too tight and ladies holding hands. But each to their own, as we say in Britain. Who was I to question someone's dress sense? And if ladies want to hold hands, then that's fine as well, nothing wrong in being friendly, is there?
We had arrived in the middle of a Gay rights festival. We came upon what looked like a pop festival with bands playing music and a very large crowd of people. After the song had finished someone walked on stage and moaned about how gay people were badly treated and not taken seriously, while the majority of the crowd were dressed in sailor suits and the afore mentioned short shorts and matching short t-shirts showing off their belly buttons or some form of piercing.
We had our own personal tour guide. Anne, a friend from WoW met us at our hotel and showed us around the city. There's nothing like having local knowledge and we managed to get our photo taken next to the little mermaid statue without the crowds. Just like Sweden, I really knew nothing about Denmark other than what I'd picked up through tv and books. One of my most abiding memories of Denmark comes from my childhood and the movie of Hans Christian Anderson starring Danny Kaye. This movie was a staple of school holidays and you could expect to see it at least once every year. I've not seen it for about 30 years, I would imagine, but I can still remember Danny singing about 'Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen'(although I think if he had arrived in the middle of a Gay rights festival, he may have not been so exuberant!). Another thing I knew about Denmark was Salte Fisk. Salte Fisk are fish shaped pieces of licorice, covered in salt. Licorice + Salt may not sound very appetizing, but let me tell you, they are delicious! Thanks to Anne and Lars for introducing me to them! I should point out that Salte Fisk are the best and you should accept no substitutes!
I'll be completely honest and say that after our evening walk around Copenhagen, I thought that we had seen everything of interest, and I was not looking forward to having to spend a day filling time. However, I was completely wrong about that because Copenhagen has a lot of hidden gems and if you look for them, you wont be disappointed.

Video of the Day

Being Posh

I say old chap, have you seen my monocle? That's right everyone, I'm being posh! Last weekend we were invited to a Polo match. Now, being invited to a Polo match is not something I ever imagined would happen to me...but I could say that of a lot of things over the past few years. I have to admit that it was a difficult choice I had to make, either watch England vs Australia in the last test of the Ashes or go watch some posh people on horses. In the end my curiosity got the better of me, besides, I was keen to find out how they kept the horses from drowning. I imagined an equine version of a snorkel would be used.
However, on arrival it became very clear to me that there are 2 types of Polo and the one played in the water was in fact played without horses! Just as well I suppose.
The Belgian Open was held over 2 days, in a field (obviously) close to where we live. The sun was shining and the drinks tent beckoned to us to come imbibe of it's liquidy goodness. So we did. It was all jolly nice, as we approached the tent we could see tables and chairs laid out and to my delight I noticed bowls of peanuts on the tables. Beer was bought and my delight deflated somewhat when a dog walked along and snuffled into every bowl it could find. The dog wasn't a Great Dane, the tables were low to the ground. Naturally, I didn't warn anyone that there was dog spit on the nuts. It's one of the pit-falls of not being able to speak Dutch all that well.
It's true to say that none of us had a clue of what was happening on the field, I had looked up the definition of the word 'Chukka' before leaving and promptly forgot what it meant by the time we arrived. But, I tried to insert it into my sentences every now and then.
"Oh I say! What a marvellous chukka"
"Did you see that chukka? The goalie had no chance!"
"Another bottle of chukka, anyone?"
Although we had no idea of the rules, it was still a marvellous spectacle to watch. Very skillful and I have to say that I was full of admiration for the riders who showed superb skill in handling the horses. Our side sadly lost, the score was 4-3 and a half. Not sure what the half was for.
Actually I'm not even sure what the 3 was for either! The sun was shining and the beer was cold and with the appearance of a Spitfire flying over the field we could have been in Kent. It was all rather like watching a village cricket game, that sort of atmosphere.

Self Indulgence Video of the Day

Perfect Sunday

As an English sports fan I don't get many chances to celebrate either my country or my team, Tottenham Hotspur, winning things. Spurs have been average, at best, for the majority of my life, the last time they won the league was a few years before I was born. The English football team have mirrored Spurs in a lot of respects, winning the World Cup 2 years after I was born and since then promising much but delivering nothing. When I moved to Belgium I considered supporting another team, Manchester United. I was tired of supporting a team that wasn't going anywhere and just wanted a bit of glory for once. I found that I couldn't change my allegiance, even if I wanted to. If you are a true fan of football then your team is in your blood. Tottenham Hotspur were the team local to where I was born, as much a part of me as being English is.
This leads to another interesting point and one that I've been thinking about over the past few days. Do you ever truly lose your identity? You can change your nationality but I truly believe that you can't change who you are and where you come from. My wife has been having a light hearted bit of 'banter' with a friend who has lived in Australia for 20 years.

Banter is nothing more than light hearted joking between friends which often involves mild insults, especially if sport is involved.

It seems that the Englishman has gone native, declaring his love for the Australian cricket team and delighting in the destruction he believed would be inflicted on English cricket! It couldn't have been easy for an English sports fan living in Australia for the last 20 years. But, I have to protest, in writing, to the Australian government, for brain washing innocent Englishmen into believing that Australia are better at cricket than England!
England won The Ashes back from Australia, in case you haven't guessed yet and for the next 18 months, us English can hold our heads high...until we lose them again in Australia!
I don't personally know the guy my wife was joking with, but I enjoyed being part of this banter. But, I did think seriously about whether it is possible to lose your national identity. I suspect my wife's friend's opinions were very much tongue in cheek but I did wonder whether his support for the Aussies was similar to me wanting to support a winning team. To ensure he doesn't lose his Englishness, we are sending him an emergency package containing a pair of Union Jack boxer shorts, a Bowler hat, a photo of the White Cliffs of Dover and a dvd of Mary Poppins! Come back to the light, before it's too late!
So, yesterday was a perfect Sunday, England won the Ashes and my team Spurs won their third game in a row. Already Spurs fans are talking about glory, as they do every season. I will be treating our current good run as I usually do, on a match by match basis.

The Ashes Dates back to 1882 and is only played between England and Australia. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Ashes is an entertaining and informative link which will tell you all about the legend surrounding this great sporting rivalry.

Video of the Day

In Sweden - Food & Drink

1. Knackebrod
2. Moose
3. Yummy
4. Fish Soup

As so often happens in my blog, I return to one of my favourite subjects...Food! The first meal I had in Sweden was a fish soup (see photo). Now, before moving to Belgium I had always regarded soup as a drink. I would no more have a bowl of soup as a meal than I would have a bowl of water or a bowl of tea. However, if I wanted a drink with my meal then I would take water. So the fact that I chose soup as my first meal in Sweden was kind of strange. We had stopped at a lovely harbour town on the west coast, called Fiskebackskil (there should be 2 little dots above the a but I don't know if I have them on my keyboard!). The first restaurant we came to offered a small selection of meals but the description of the fish soup -and yes, an English menu was available - promised the customer untold fishy riches. The description was spot on! It turned out to be one of the best meals I ate whilst in Sweden. As if that wasn't good enough, the restaurant offered a free Herring buffet to enjoy whilst waiting for your meal! Now a Herring buffet could possibly be someone's idea of Hell. Not for me! I was happy to try Herring prepared in every conceivable way. I wasn't to keen on the Herring in fruit marinade, but the rest of it was jolly nice.

The best meals we had in Sweden were prepared by our friends. You can't beat home cooking! We had a traditional meal of...Herring! Actually, this was our starter. Served with cheese and sour cream with fresh chives and pieces of crispbread. Called Knackebrod (2 little dots over the a and the o) it comes in large 12 inch discs with a hole in the middle. The hole allows you to hang the Knackebrod up in your kitchen and in the old days Swedish drivers would always keep a supply of them in the boot of their cars in case they needed a spare wheel.

The starter was accompanied by a schnapps, which compliments the fish. The main dish was of gratain (spelling could be wrong) with anchovies (pure genius! I love anchovies!), smoked sausage ( surely the king of sausages), prawns with caviar and meat balls. Oh, there were taters as well.

We also had moose. Absolutely delicious, tastes like chicken...that's a lie, it tastes like Beef, but stronger if you get my meaning. We also had a home made pie which was a little like a crumble, different taste but really, really nice! This was a secret pie, keep it to yourselves, ok? We had specific orders not to eat anything before our traditional Swedish meal!

I did say that eating out in Sweden was expensive. Actually, we had some good meals for reasonable prices. The fish soup was one of the cheapest meals we had. After a few weeks my taste buds were screaming for a curry but we had to settle for a Chinese meal instead! Again, the prices were no different than what we would pay in Belgium. So, I may have been a bit hasty in condemning Swedish prices. It's actually the beers that accompany the meal that puts the prices right up.

In Sweden, if you want a strong drink, you have to go to a special shop called a Systembolaget. The Systembolaget are state run and deliberately make your alcohol buying experience as annoying as possible. Whilst you can buy beer in the local supermarket, the highest alcohol content is 3.5%. I think this is quite a good idea. They advertised the beer in the supermarkets as barbecue beer, I tried a few and my only complaint would be that barbecuing them makes the can very hot difficult to open! Other than that, quite nice!