Hot Enough To Boil A Monkey's Bum!

Summertime and the living is, indeed, easy. I have a love/hate relationship with summer. In the depths of winter, when icicles are hanging off my nose, I pray for the warmth of the sun. Two days into prolonged hot spell, I'm sitting in front of an open freezer, cursing the sun. What is it with people? Being white and Anglo Saxon, I tend to treat hot weather in the same way that a vampire treats daylight-I try to avoid it! In Britain, you will often hear people complaining about the weather: It's too cold, too wet, too dry, too hot, not cold, but not hot either! It's a national pastime. I've heard people yearn for the sun and when it arrives those same people complain that it's too hot. Hot weather is different in Britain, they say. It's a nicer kind of heat in Greece. The 95° heat in Florida is much more bearable...which is nonsense. The sun doesn't do anything different, it's just that very hot weather is so much more bearable when you are walking around on holiday, sipping a chilled drink and the only thing you have to worry about is whether the Germans have taken all the sun-beds around the swimming pool! Ok, before I get inundated by amateur Meteorologists, yes, humidity plays a part as well-but not in this story!
Next week, the most important competition in the English Cricketing calender begins. It is called the Ashes and I wrote about it a few months ago. England will play Australia in 5 test matches over the next few months and I will be praying for continued hot and sunny weather. But in the meantime, I'm off to the local KBC bank with a book and a deck chair because they have the best cool air con in town!
To accompany this post, you can find a special summertime playlist on Radio Free Belgium.

Video of the Day

Michael Jackson.
1969 - 1995 King of Pop
1995 - 2009 Wacko Jacko
Sad, but true.
I wouldn't name Jackson in my top 50 favourite recording artists, I shouldn't need to repeat my mantra of " I don't like that sort of music," especially after writing my most recent post. But driving down to Dunkirk last year Studio Brussels here in Belgium were playing a compilation of his hits to promote the release of the King of Pop cd and I turned to my fiancée and said, "he made some good songs!"
On hearing the news this morning, I rather cruelly said to her, "see, that's what dancing does to you!"
MJ now joins, not only that long list of stars who died too young, but also that much shorter list of icons who transcended Superstardom. Unlike Monroe, Morrison, Lennon and Dean he did reach his potential. But like that other icon, Elvis Presley, we can expect things to get pretty stupid. The similarities are there for all to see. Both men were wildly popular, both men were...eccentric. How long before the first sighting of Michael Jackson serving fries at a McDonalds in Asswipe, Nebraska? How long before the first sighting of him swinging on a vine in a jungle somewhere in Africa with Bubbles the Chimp clinging to him? Or, come to that, how long before reports of him running a second hand record store somewhere, with Elvis?
But, I think, more importantly than all that nonsense, like Elvis, his best years were behind him when he died. We did see the best of Michael Jackson.
A few hours before the news broke of Jacksons death, the headline news on CNN was the death of Farrah Fawcett, famous for appearing in 70's show Charlies Angels. There is a certain synchronicity to celebrity deaths and just as people in Europe were waking up to Jacksons death, news started to circulate that actor Jeff Goldblum had fallen to his death whilst filming in New Zealand. Within a few hours, Google announced that Jeff Goldblum Dead was the 3rd most popular search on the net. To paraphrase a certain Mark Twain, "News of his death had been greatly exaggerated." The power of the Internet!
As a footnote to that, it has been pointed out that celebrity deaths seem to come in groups of 3. I don't know what research there is to qualify that, but if it is true, then who is next?

Video of the Day

Rhythm

I love music, any kind of music, I love music just as long as it's...not disco. I have to make some compilation discs for a wedding, which includes background music and the full blown disco later in the evening. I think I have already nailed my colours to the mast in an earlier post when I explained about the sort of music I like. It isn't Disco music. It is as far removed from Disco as you could possibly get. I have no love of the drum machine, the repetitive hand clapping and the instrumental break which includes a whistle being blown by someone who obviously has no concept of the word annoying. If your child was to go around blowing a whistle like that, it would soon end up being introduced to a hammer. The whistle, not the child. I have spent the past few months trying to come up with a few hours worth of music that will please everyone and it has been hard. A few weeks ago I was finally happy with the 4 x 1hr and 20min cd's I had made. However, the experience left me with music burn-out, having to listen to the full 14 minute of Rappers Delight by the SugarHill Gang and More, More, More by the Andrea True Connection left me with a twitch below my right eye and an aversion to Hotels, Motels and indeed Holiday Inns. I think my man gene kicks in sometimes. My formative years in the 70's were spent watching my sister standing in a line with other girls performing intricate moves to songs. Every record seemed to have a dance that went with it. I can remember desperately wanting to be able to do 'The Woodpecker," which was performed to Tiger Feet by Mud, but the one time I attempted this dance an ambulance was called because someone thought I was having a seizure.
It wasn't too long before I came to the conclusion that dancing is for girls. So, I got into music that you didn't have to dance to and if you did want to dance then all you had to do was jump up and down. I can do that. Nowadays, I am as nimble as an armchair. I still can't dance, I may tap my right foot, and maybe my left as well if it's a long enough song, but that's about it.
Bill Hicks said that real men don't dance, they just sit, sweat and curse. I concur with that sentiment.

Video of the Day

The Origins of Oranges...

At the same time that the Dutch were inventing their language, the English were busy crossing t's and dotting i's of their own language.

The Chairman walks in to find the usually serious linguists huddled in a group and giggling at something on the big Oak desk in front of them.
"What's this then?" asked the Chairman.
There was an embarrassed silence and a whispered, "Put it away, man."
But, the Chairman was already at the desk.
"Perkins managed to get hold of a proof copy of the new Dutch Dictionary," said a red cheeked man.
"Has he now?", the Chairman said, "and why should such an action produce so much hilarity?"
The man's red cheeks became even redder.
"Erm, well sir, they have called shops...", the red cheeked man coughed," winkels".
"What's that? Speak up man!"
"Winkels, sir, winkels!"
"Oh do grow up!" the Chairman gave the assembled men a whithering look.
Amongst other things, in Britain,the word winkle is a slang word for the male sexual organ.
"Put it away, if you please," the Chairman ordered, and returned to his desk.
"Now then," he said, looking at his notes.
"Fruit"
He picked up his gavel and rapped it on the desk.
"Bring in the first object, " he called.
A man walked in with a round object on a platter. Walked to a small round table which stood between the Chairman's desk and the linguists desk, and placed the object on the table top.
From out of the shadows walked another man, who picked up the object, held it up for all to see and cleared his throat.
"Gentlemen, we have a fruit from South East Asia. It has an outer skin, which is uneatable, and segmented, edible flesh inside."
He turned to the Chairman, who nodded, and asked the linguists:
"Would anyone like to offer a suggestion?"
"Peelskin?" offered one.
"Peelo?"offered another.
"Peelchard," said Perkins.
"Peelchard! I like it!" said the Chairman, who dipped the nib of his quill in a small pot of ink.
"Any objections?"
The man who had described the fruit cleared his throat to grab the Chairman's attention and said:
"Sir, I believe we called a fish something very similar last week."
"Did we now? Well, we can't have that then can we?"
"Perhaps we can have the fruit unpeeled, sir?" said Perkins.
"Jolly good idea." The chairman indicated that the describer should proceed.
A small fountain of juice erupted from the fruit as he dug his nail into it.
"What about Squirto?" asked one of the linguists.
The Chairman ignored him.
By now, the fruit was peeled and segmented and silence fell over the room as the top linguists in the country set their minds on the problem.
Three hours later the Chairman awoke from a nap and addressed the room.
"Well?" he asked.
Silence.
Perkins stood up.
" The Dutch call it a Sinaas Appel, sir."
The Chairman walked to a fruit bowl which stood on a table which had been set out for lunch. He picked up a piece of fruit.
"Well, we can't call it an apple, Perkins, this.." he held up the piece of fruit," ..is an apple."
"Actually sir, that's a banana," said the describer.
"Ah..yes. I meant this..." he quickly exchanged it for an apple.
There was a frustrated silence.
"Well the Dutch also call the potato an apple . Aardappel, they call it," said Perkins.
"The French call the potato an apple as well," a voice said.
"We wont be copying the bloody French," snapped the Chairman.
"Squirty Apple?" said Perkins.
"Perkins, you really are a buffoon." The chairman said.
"Orange, sir," offered the describer, who wanted his lunch.
"Are you by any chance related to Perkins?" asked the Chairman.
"Orange what?" asked one of the linguists, who thought it had potential.
The describer shrugged.
"You can't call something by it's colour," said the Chairman.
Silence once more descended on the room.
"We could call it an orange what," said Perkins.
"Perkins, leave the room!" ordered the Chairman.
However, after another few hours careful consideration, the Chairman agreed to call the fruit an Orange. At first, this was confusing to the British population because whenever someone was asked if they would like an orange, the answer was always:
"An orange what?"
So, for the next hundred years or so, the fruit was known as an Orange What, until, as is inevitable with the English language, the name was shortened back to its original name of Orange.
Some of this post is untrue.

Missing

It's inevitable that you are going to miss certain things when you move away from your country of birth. Just recently I found myself missing British tv channels, even though we don't really watch a lot of tv. That is, I suppose, a bit ungrateful of me. BBC 1 & 2 are available here and in some parts of Belgium you can pick up ITV Meridian. Last week, I found a streaming video site which shows ITV, in near perfect clarity. I was chuffed to bits! Now I can watch England matches and listen to annoying English commentators, rather than annoying Belgian commentators! I Googled the Radio times, which is a tv listing magazine in the UK, and searched the following weeks ITV programmes for something good to watch. And was reminded by the crap lined up of why we don't watch a lot of tv! Suffice to say, I haven't watched anything since seeing England thrash mighty Andorra in a World Cup qualifier.
There are plenty of streaming sites to be found online. The majority of them are rubbish. Some of them though, are excellent. Over the past few weeks, I have been watching the World Twenty 20 Cricket competition, thanks to some enterprising Indian people. It's the first cricket I've been able to watch since leaving England and I was like a pig in s**t! Imagine my surprise this week when I found out that Eurosport were covering it live! Cricket on tv? In Belgium? Surely some mistake! Anyone from Belgium curious about the game, can watch the final on Sunday if they have Eurosport. It will take 2 hours 30 minutes of your time, and who knows, you may like it!
Unfortunately, streaming Indian restaurants is a little more trickier and I will have to go on missing certain aspects of English life!

Video of the Day

Half Day

It is Wednesday. The time is fast approaching 12 noon. Pedestrians quicken their pace whilst looking nervously around. Cars park haphazardly, on the road, on the footpath, and god help them, some even park on the cycle path!
The church bell rings.
DONG!
DONG!
DONG!
Home owners rush out and fasten the shutters on the windows of their homes.
DONG!
DONG!
DONG!
Worried mothers pick up their toddlers and look for a safe haven.
DONG!
DONG!
DONG!
Dogs whimper and scurry off, tails between their legs.
DONG!
DONG!
DONG!
A tumbleweed rolls down the unnaturally quiet street.
It's High noon.
School is finished for the day!
The doors open and hordes of children of all shapes and sizes come running out, cheering and laughing. Some run straight onto a waiting bus, where they cram themselves into every nook and cranny. The bus drives off, squashed faces pressing against the windows.
Some run to waiting cars, huge 4x4's, no doubt waiting to sprint across the open fields of Flanders. Others run to the local sweet shop to spend their pocket money on something sweet and sticky. The older kids ride like the wind to the local Colruyt, and shoppers groan in dismay as they see 20 or 30 bicycles stacked together in the car park, waiting for their owners.
It's impossible to walk on the footpath, dont even try to walk on the cycle path as the children ride 4 abreast and you can't even walk in the road because cars are suddenly discovering that they are blocked in by other cars and are too impatient to wait and so try to maneuver through the slightest gap.
Wednesdays are half days in Belgium. You have been warned!
A certain artistic licence was used in the writing of this post.

Video of the Day

Welke Taal...Lurgy

Men are usually pretty blasé about being ill. However, it's a well known fact that man-flu is one of the most terrible illnesses known to...man. I'm lucky, I would regard myself as a fairly healthy person. At one time, I spent 3 cold free winters in a row. The cold virus caught me up when I moved to Belgium. I had 5 colds during my first winter here. I saw on tv that there are around 200 cold viruses doing the rounds in Britain, and once you have had a particular virus, you wont get it again.
At the age of 45, I guess that I've had my fair share of the common cold. However, despite my terrible first winter in Belgium, when Kleenex had a record year for sales in the Benelux countries, I have had one particular virus all year round. The symptoms include; Headache, upset stomach and nausea, wobbly and aching legs. I usually get it on a saturday or sunday morning. It can take three forms, Red or White, and the rarer Rosé and goes by the name of Wine Flu.
Yesterday, I got out of my sick bed for my regular sunday trip to the bakers. As readers will know, I declared a truce to the bread wars which blighted my sundays earlier in the year. There really hasn't been anything of note to report in recent months. All quiet on the bakers front. My order for this week was 2 croissants and a loaf of bread. I had a pocket full of klein geld (small change) and after finding out that croissants were 50c and the bread was €2, I worked out that the cost of my shopping would be €3. Lucky for me I took my calculator along.
So, I ordered my bread and croissants and was told by the shop assistant:

Shop Assistant:- Drie euro, zestig cent

Well, that didn't sound right, but I thought that probably the price list was out of date so I handed over my €3.60 and she gave me €1.40 change!
Huh!?

Lost

When I was a child, I knew the name of every street for miles around. I knew the quickest way to get to any given street, by using a network of back alleyways and negotiating the odd fence or wall. My family moved from my childhood home not long after I learnt to drive, and so my navigation skills changed. I no longer had to walk or ride down streets to get somewhere. I could drive from A to B. No problem. Except the older I got, the less I knew about where I was living. Sure, I walked a lot even as a young man, but I took less notice of where I was walking, I didn't look at street names because I was just going from here to there. And then a strange thing began to happen. The less I knew about where I was living, the more people stopped me and asked me for directions. I suppose if you walk a lot this will happen. Law of averages and all that. It even carried on when I arrived in Belgium. In the first year I was here, I would estimate I was being stopped sometimes as much as 3 times a week by people who were lost. It's a great way to meet people, but a bit of a pain having to explain to people that "Ik be een Engelsman en mijn nederlands is niet goed" all the time. We are not far from the border with the Netherlands, so a lot of people would be Dutch and most of the time just looking for the brewery, which is an easy one. I was stopped and asked for directions to the prison, which was strange because we don't have a prison anywhere near the town. One of the last times I was stopped was by a guy driving a car with Slovakian plates on it and he spoke from the start in English. I could have hugged him. I say one of the last times I was stopped because since that first year I have not been asked for directions at all. It's really strange, the better I get to know my way around a place, the less I get asked for directions! I still walk as much as I ever did.
But, Belgium is a strange place. It's set out strangely, I have lost all sense of direction here. If I look at a map of Belgium, I always find myself slightly surprised at where we actually are on the map. The streets are strange here as well. In that first year I was here and I was still on speaking terms with my bike, I decided, in a rare burst of inspiration, that I would explore my surroundings to get to know the area better. I also stupidly thought it was a great idea to take the bike because I could explore so much further than I would normally do on foot. I set out with a basic route in mind, which would take me down some back roads, one of which is in the photo that accompanies this post. I based my route on the idea that if I rode in straight lines, I should end up back where I started. In effect, a square. I rode for an hour before admitting to myself that my plan was hopelessly flawed, the church steeple I had spied and had been using as a target because I thought it was our local church, turned out to be an impostor. I hadn't a clue where I was and decided that discretion was the better part of valour and that if I rode any further I would become even more lost than I already was. I'm not sure if there are levels of being lost, but at that time I was level 2 of 3. I turned round and rode home the way I had come. I managed to get the name of the village from the notice board outside the church and bearing it in mind I made my way home. When I was shown where I had actually ended up on a map I refused to believe it. My square had turned into tetrahedron!

Video of the Day

Twit

Social Networking. I have a Facebook page. It contains hundreds of small posts telling me what my friends and acquaintances have done, are doing and plan to do. I don't use Facebook a lot, I'm not really interested in it. I have 52 requests including:
1 big hug a friend invitation
1 sheep request (don't ask)
1 you're a hottie request
1 pirate invitation
1 smack talk invitation (no idea)
4 merry Christmas requests
1 which super hero are you like request
1 wear a bee hive on your head for Jesus invitation
1 which super hero are you not like request
and 8 zombie invitations.
Someone sent me a photo of a bottle of beer with the words 'have a beer on me' above it. Cheers, I shall enjoy looking at it. I also have been invited to share a shot of Tequila with someone but I don't like Tequila so I'm not going to waste any time looking at it, I'm going to spend a little more time looking at my bottle of beer.
I am invited to 'stop the use of live dogs as shark bait', which I have to admit is tempting, as is 'start the use of live cats as shark bait'.
But Facebook does have some useful aspects as well. Last week I managed to survive a zombie holocaust which made me feel pretty damn good about myself...which is bloody sad. But it did teach me some valuable lessons on how not to become a snack for the undead.
I also have a Twitter account but can't really see what possible use it has. I had one attached to this blog and for around a month I informed everyone what cd I was listening to and whether I was drinking a cup of tea. Well, a person can only stand so much excitement and I decided to remove it from the blog. Also, isn't Twitter just a restrictive version of msn? At least with msn you don't run out of words.
hi hun, when you get home, whatever you do, don't go in th
Ok, I'm off to prepare for the zombie holocaust...bring it on!

In Flanders-In Pictures

In Flanders-In Pictures is a blog which compliments In Flanders. Everyday I will upload a photo which relates to a story posted on this blog. I shall also include photos of Belgium and countries I have visited since I have been living In Flanders. I'm not a good photographer but I do like to take photos. If you are interested then you can find a link in the blog list to the left of this post.

Video of the day

Vote For Me!

The last time I voted was earlier this year when I voted for British Chips rather than Belgian ones. I still think the ballot was rigged! Seriously, the only time I have voted in my life was in 1982, and that was only because I had just become eligible to vote. The British are famous for their apathy in regards to voting, I rather like to think we are just exercising our right NOT to vote, if we don't want to. Didn't the British fight in a war for that sort of thing?

In Belgium, people are forced to vote. Yesterday, I settled down to a nice mug of tea as the rest of the household ventured out into the pouring rain before the vote police came-a-knocking.

"Don't forget your ID cards" I called out to them, adding something witty (in my opinion) about living in a Fascist state.

Should people be forced to vote? The turn out across the continent was only 43% for the EU elections. I like to think that people who voted actually knew what they were voting for. I'm not much of a political animal, as you might of guessed. My favourite statement about voting is that if voting actually changed anything they would ban it. I'm interested in the furor about MP's expenses currently hogging the news in Britain but that's only because I like to see these people squirming a bit. Whilst I have the freedom to choose whether I want to vote or not, I will choose not to. I'm aware of the EU elections, but not aware of any policies from any political party in Britain, apart from the UK Independent Party (UKIP), who won a lot of seats in Britain, their policy? Pull Britain out of the EU! So we now have a group of people speaking on our behalf in Brussels, who are (effectively) against themselves being in Brussels...they won more seats than Labour.

Where?

I'm just about old enough to still be impressed by certain things. I can remember laying in bed when I was a child and wishing there was an invention which enabled you to watch movies whenever you wanted. Imagine my delight last year when someone told me about an invention called a Vedio...or was it Vijio? Ok, I'm being an idiot again, as a complete stranger said to me yesterday in a forum! But, I'm of an age where videos and dvds, satellite feeds from China and ring pulls on cans of beer, still sort of impress me.
I forget about the internet. It's something I use everyday and because of that, it's easy to forget just how brilliant it is. Sure, a stranger in Birmingham can call me an idiot, but then my blog gets a visit from someone from the Kingdom of Brunei or Malaysia and all of a sudden I get all impressed again. One of the things I really like doing is scrolling down and seeing where my readers come from. Sure, some of them come across me by mistake. I've done that lots of times, let me tell you folks, there are some strange blogs out there! But I do have a regular readership and I check more than once a day to see where my readers are dropping in from. I'm on a sort of mission...it's becoming addictive. I want more and more people to visit from different countries! I only wish some of you would spare the time to say hi, in the comments section. Even better, become a follower.
I would like to take this opportunity to tell readers that I will be taking time off from blogging, starting from around the 2nd week in July. I shall keep you posted on exactly when nearer the date.

Video of the Day

Summertime

Ah...the joys of summer. Wasps, 3 quarter length trousers, sandles with socks, even more people riding around on bicycles and barbeques-just a few of the unpleasent things we are subjected to when the weather is warm.
3 quarter length trousers and sandles with socks are a fashion statement, and whilst I find grown adult men to look ridiculous in them, I understand the urge to look cool and trendy where the trousers are concerned and also understand that a poorly fitting pair of sandles can chaff a bit. I personally wear a nice pair of Craghopper shorts and Tevas on my feet, you can't beat Tevas for comfort! Ok, that's my fashion tips for the older man out of the way!
Wasps are just wasps, and whilst their ways may seem strange to us they probably have a very good reason for wanting to buzz next to a fully open window, rather than flying out of it.
Barbeques...what is the attraction of eating badly cooked meat in your garden? We have an oven, in our kitchen. It's a big thing square thing and you can cook all sorts of things on it and in it. You don't need coal or parafin and it actually cooks meat quicker than a barbie. Also, my oven doesn't send out plumes of bloody smoke, infesting every open window in the neighbourhood! I like meat, I'm a carnivore, I salivate at the thought of a donner kebab the same as the next man. But, I do wonder sometimes what people are cooking on their barbeques because the stench can be disgusting!
Roll on winter...

Video of the Day

Welke Taal Spreek Je?...I Speak Wine

I don't know what it's like in your part of the world, but here in Flanders it's hot enough to boil a monkeys bum! Traditionally, my usual part of the world, the Herts/Essex border, has around 2 weeks of really good non-stop sunny weather and then it's a case of suck it and see. I've noticed a similar trend in Belgium. But while it's here you have to enjoy it and so last Friday evening we visited family just up the road and I did what the English do best, drunk copious amounts of alcohol whilst basking in the sun.
Alcohol does strange things to a person. It can affect your balance, make you happy, make you sad and it makes some people angry. But it does even stranger things to me because I heard the next day that I was apparently talking Dutch like a native! I'm not sure how to react to this news, I like to think that a few glasses of Spanish Red loosened my tongue and my reserve enough to speak without worrying about infinitief or perfectum. But at the same time it's worth noting that the people I was talking to were also a tad tipsy and I could have been talking complete gibberish and they would have still understood me!