How ironic, that the week after Lord Roby should receive his Belgian ID Card, that he should be told he is leaving Belgium in the near future.I swore I would never carry an ID Card in the UK on principle.But somehow it doesn't seem so much of an issue over here.At least I'm too old for national service.While I am on the subject of identity,the Belgians have a little quirk with which they can identify each other in the presence of the French.You see when the French count above 69 they say 60-10(soixante -dix),60-11,60-12 etc.The Belgians won't have this,they have invented Septant.And so they count accordingly; Septant Un (71),Septant Deux (72) etc.So next time you are in Belgium,Soixante-Neuf is fine,but Soixante Dix is a no-no.Well I suppose it would be! P.S. The man in the picture is NOT Lord Roby.
Driving in Belgium can be bad for your health.First off they have a strange priority from the right thing going on.Not everywhere, but only in certain circumstances.If you see a crossroads sign, then beware because it means somebody can drive straight into you from a minor road to your right and you are to blame! Secondly Belgians are the most ignorant drivers I have come across.There is no way they will allow you onto 'their' motorway.They will see you nestled in the crash barrier on the slip road before they will give way.And finally Belgian drivers have no respect for pedestrian crossings.On many occasions I have been half way across the road only to look right and see a car speeding towards me.Now, I wait until there is nothing on the horizon before I step out.Well you live and learn.
Last night Lord Roby had a close shave.After a few beers 5 33cls(trente-trois' in Belgie) in Brussels over a 4 hour period, I had to decide whether to drive the car from the station or use Shanks' Pony.The weather and the Toffees being on Match of the Day in a few minutes meant I was behind the wheel and off.About half way into the 5 minute journey I was passed by the local plod.This was the last thing I needed.I watched in my rear view mirror as they performed the obligatory u-turn.I was on the radar.It was time to get my foot down.I reached the road I needed to park up in only to find it blocked due to the local market!! It was time to rely on my wits and a couple of jiggers to get me to my apartment.I managed to get parked up and out of the car about 10 seconds before the plod cars headlights came in to view.There was only 1 thing left to do.Walk back towards the car.Well they would be looking for someone heading away from the car surely.This classic double bluff meant they shot past me to the badly parked car ahead, torches in hand and carried on away from me in pursuit of the culprit.Match of the day was ditched in favour of a classic double calvados.Phew! Next time I will walk.
I guess most of you out there know that that learning a new language can be quite daunting.Particularly when you have nobody to back you up when you get stuck.Even more so when you are angry,like this morning when my taxi was over 2 hours late!You just don't have the ammunition to give them both barrells when you most need to.But when the language is French and you have the added problem of sex..; it can be even more trying.You see all French nouns are either masculine or feminine.I say Un Baguette..they say Une Baguette Monsieur?....I say Un Saucisson....they say Une Saucisson Monsieur?....I say Le Kalashnikov....They say La Kalashnikov Monsieur?.... Am I the butt of some Wallonian game?.....Hide Le Saucisson maybe....sorry.... La Saucisson....How on earth can anyone consider baguettes,sausages and kalashnikov rifles to be feminine is beyond the realms of my understanding.Vive le/la Grenouilles!
Upper Working Class Evertonian made good.Used to be Working Class.Hates injustice particularly by bent referees and detests bad service but loves life and all that it brings.Carpe Diem from the cradle to the grave and beyond.