Category Archives: Fortis bank

Monday 24th October 2016 – DESPITE WHAT I SAID …

… last night, I didn’t go to bed all that early. In fact, I carried on with what I was doing on my website. And by the time that I had finished – which was at 00:15, I’d transformed the page on which Iw as working into two pages – this one and this one.

In fact, I ought really to have divided it up into three pages given the size of the pages that were produced, but there wasn’t a clear join or convenient break-point anywhere so it will have to do.

I went to sleep after that and without any interruption at all, I was stark out until the alarm went off. I’d been on my travels too, although I don’t remember all that much about it now. All that I do remember was that it featured the girl who on these pages has been known in the past as “The One That Got Away” and her daughter, and we were on a cruise or voyage somewhere with a pile of other people.

When the alarm went off, I was awake instantly. Straight into breakfast where I was joined by a couple of other housemates, and then back here long before 08:00.

I’ve spent most of the day attacking the website with further amendments and by late afternoon two more revised pages were on line – this one and this one.

And as if that isn’t enough, I’ve been working on two completely new ones. I spent two days a-wandering around Godbout just after I arrived there. And each one of my daily rambles will have its own page.

However, that won’t be finished tonight as I’m pretty tired, and it won’t be finished tomorrow either because Caliburn is ready and I can go to pick him up tomorrow morning. Assuming that I don’t have any other contretemps on my way out of the city, I’ll go to pay a visit to IKEA. I have been having a long-term plan that has rapidly passed through the mid-term stage and is now a short-term objective, and IKEA plays a part in that.

Apart from that, what else?

We’ve had the odd crash-out as you might expect, and I had to go to the Fortis bank round the corner to pay my web-hosting fees for 2017. They are due at the end of November. And I finished the rest of the curry that I had made last Thursday.

But web-hosting – that reminds me.

It costs me a lot of money to put my web-pages and this blog on line, and I’m sure that you have all benefited at one time or another from what I’ve been saying.

You can help me by making your next purchase from Amazon via the links on the right-hand side of this blog. You pay no extra by doing this, but I receive a small commission from the company, and this helps me pay the web-hosting.

Please help me keep my postings alive.

Friday 10th June 2016 – I’M ANNOYED!

In fact, I’m furious!

Yes, that nice place that I went to see, the landlord has now decided that he didn’t want to rent it to me after all.

So let me tell you the full story. He advertised several rooms, the one of which I wanted was available from 15/06 until 15/09. But when I arrived, it had gone. He did have another, from 01/07 until 15/09, and I said that in principle I would take that if I could find somewhere for the period from 13/07 until the end of the month. So he sent me an e-mail with all of the details of a place that he knew, and that was what I booked. And so I told him that all was arranged and could we go ahead. This was when he sent me a mail to say that he didn’t want me as a tenant.

I don’t have a big issue with that, but what I do have an issue with is why he wasted my time getting me to go to this other place and booking there for two weeks. I could easily have found another place for the whole three months on this web-site that I’ve been using. Why send me a mail with this information? Why not just tell me in the first place that he had changed his mind?

Mind you, I suppose that I do have another two weeks to look around, and it does give me more leeway to find out what they will tell me on Sunday.

It wasn’t all doom and gloom though, for I was out gallivanting just now. Alison and her cousin Jennifer came to visit me and to inspect my country estate, and we ended up going back into Leuven together for a fritkot and a coffee. That made a very nice change indeed – it’s very pleasant to spend an evening in the company of interesting and stimulating people and I was sorry when it was time to go home. I don’t meet enough interesting people these days.

So what else have I done today?

Ahh, yes. I went to the big Carrefour at Korbeek-Lo for shopping. I spent quite a sum in there but then I needed to because this new place where I’m going is far from the big shops and I’ll have no transport while I’m there (there’s no parking in the vicinity so Caliburn will be staying at the hospital) and so I needed to stock up with tins and the like to drop off there when I go by and leave my stuff on Sunday evening. Whatever else I need to buy, I can do that bit-by-bit as I’m out on my travels.

But I did make one small boy’s day today. At the Carrefour they give away football stickers and models depending upon how much you spend, and I was given quite a few. Not that they are of much interest to me but there was a boy of about 6 in the queue behind me, all dressed in Belgium football gear, so I gave the lot to him. He’ll have more fun with it all than ever I will.

The bank was next on the list too. I had a couple of hospital appointments to pay for, and I wanted to do that as quickly as possible. Put everything like that out of the way so that I’m up-to-date. When I’m in the hospital, I’ll check to see if there is anything else to pay.

Now that I’m back home, I’ll have an early night ready for tomorrow. But I’m still fuming about this flaming landlord and his blasted room.

Tuesday 10th May 2016 – SO, WHAT ARE THE NEW DIGS LIKE, THEN?

universitair ziekenhuis pellenberg leuven belgiumFirst of all, it made a pleasant change to wake up and hear the birds singing. For the last few weeks I’ve been waking up to hear the birds coughing.

My room looks out towards the west, away from the campus, and I have the sun streaming in here towards the end of the afternoon and all of that is quite nice.

And that, I’m afraid, is about that.

Firstly, there’s no private toilet. I have to wander off down the corridor which, three or four times during the night, is going to be rather inconvenient to say the least.

Having had a bad night’s sleep yet again (I just can’t get comfy these days) and totally forgetting a dream that I was having, I staggered off in search of breakfast only to be told that … errr … there isn’t any. It’s not supplied.

Neither is coffee. And there’s nothing to cook on, no water fountain, no laundry room, no absolutely nothing.

universitair ziekenhuis pellenberg leuven belgiumThe building itself is fairly modern – 1960s or 1970s I reckon, and has the air of being some kind of isolation hospital. And in the 50 or whatever years since it’s been built, I reckon that it hasn’t seen a lick of paint or an ounce of modernisation in the areas that I saw.

However, you can’t argue with the setting and if it’s peace and quiet that you want, then you can’t go far wrong here because there isn’t going to be anything to disturb you.

universitair ziekenhuis pellenberg leuven belgiumIt’s set in huge grounds that have the appearance of having once been landscaped, and on peering through the trees there’s a really impressive chateau down there surrounded by a lake – or moat even.

I was tempted to go for a good browse around and to see what gives at the chateau but it was raining quite heavily on and off and so I’ve taken a rain-check on that and I’ll be looking into this at a later date.

So the first thing to do was to sort out some food for breakfast.

Alison had given me some dry-toasted biscuits and I had some strawberry jam. There was some grapefruit juice that I had bought last night and I had fetched some coffee from home. So that was breakfast all properly organised.

As for lunch; I nipped out in Caliburn to look for a baguette and ended up having to drive about a hundred blasted miles to Lubbeek before I found anywhere. And there wasn’t a single fritkot or cheapo fast food place anywhere on the way.

So what did I do for tea then?

Well, there’s a camping stove, some water, a saucepan, some pasta, some tins of mushrooms, some tins of mixed veg and a few jars of tomato sauce and so I cooked in the back of Caliburn like I did in France two years ago when I was in those digs in Rennes-les-Bains where there was no restaurant open. Some slices of that spicy cake with soya cream and I had a meal for for a King.

The secret of all of these matters is “preparation”. If you prepare for the problems, they don’t become problems, do they?

And how have I occupied my time?

Apart from tiptoeing through the tulip … errr … raindrops, I’ve been working on the blog again bringing it further up-to-date. I’ve probably done another 10 days today so I’m making a fair bit of progress.

And I’ve been on the phone to the bank (which took me about an hour and I shudder to thing how much that will cost me) for I’ve mislaid my bank card. I can’t find it anywhere at the moment and I need to order it because if I do go back home for a week, it needs to be there when I’m there so that I can bring it back with me.

My plans of finding a little studio or flat have come to nothing too. It seems that no-one will consider a lease for less than a year, so a four-month lease is out of the question for me. Good job that I have a Plan C, as well a plan B.

So now, I’m going to have an early night and see if I can remember what happens while I’m on my travels. I’m rather letting the side down right at the moment.

Wednesday 30th March 2016 – OFF TO BRUSSELS.

And I’d forgotten what a horrible place Brussels was. That I can tell you for nothing.

I fought my way through the traffic and left the Motorway at Woluwe, only to find myself in a huge set of roadworks that seemed to go on for ever – way beyond the Woluwe Shopping Centre. But eventually I found myself on the car park of the Carrefour at Boisfort, right by the Demey metro station.

It goes without saying that the metro station was closed – in fact about half of them were, so I had a weary trudge all the way back in the opposite direction and beyond, to the station at Hermann-Debroux.

I arrived at the bank, which was to be my first port of call, where I needed to transfer some money from my savings to my current account. But I ruled that out when I discovered that I’d left my passport behind in Caliburn. That was no use.

But I made about 30 phone calls to the EU’s Personnel Department (I refuse to use the derogatory term of “human resources”. I’m a human being, not a unit of production, and the whole world went wrong when employers stopped treating their staff as human beings and started to treat them as just another business resource) before someone answered the phone. I explained my problem – and I’m not sure why I had to because the person to whom I was speaking couldn’t see me. So wasn’t that a waste of time? But she did say to call back at 16:00 precisely as her colleague would just be back from a meeting and I might just catch him before he leaves the office.

I bought some bread and tomatoes and had lunch in the Parc Solvay, then went on the bust and tram to Ixelles and the Health-Food shop to buy some more vegan sliced cheese. Four packs, so that’s me OK for a while. And then I went off to see Marianne and have a chat. She was probably surprised to see me, and she’ll be even more surprised shortly if I end up in there with her. But I’ll be heading in the opposite direction, that’s for sure. They are stoking the fires already.

By now, I’d pulled a muscle in my right leg and was in agony. But I pressed on and found my way back to Schuman, having been obliged to take a really circuitous route there, due to “perturbations”. passing through Maelbeek Station, which is all fenced off and covered over, the thought did occur to me that this bomber can’t have been much good, and his infrastructure even worse. Just 400 metres further on is the Arts-Loi metro station, which is the key hub of the underground network, and it doesn’t take much in the way of brains to realise that had his bomb gone off there, he could have crippled the Brussels Metro for good.

I’m on record, and from as far back as 2002 too, as saying that the only reason that there aren’t more of these attacks is that the perpetrators can’t be bothered.

And it’s no use crying about it either. The time for crying was in 2002 when millions of people took to the streets to protest at the actions of Western Europe in becoming involved in a war that had nothing to do with us. But the politicians took no notice, and here we are. And only a politician or a westerner can be so naïve as to believe that if you declare war on someone and start to attack them, those people aren’t going to turn round and fight back.

Ever since 2002, the West should have been preparing for casualties. The first actions of the UK politicians in 1939 was to order 200,000 cardboard coffins “just in case”. The naîveté of the West, its politicians and its citizens, has been unbelievable.

As Douglas Haig once famously said, “fear of heavy casualties is a good enough reason for not going to war, but it’s a pretty poor reason once you are already fighting” or something like that.

I telephoned my Personnel guy bang-on 16:00 and he answered the phone. And I could feel the disappointment in his voice as I spoke to him. But 15 minutes later, there I was and he gave me a few bits and pieces of useful information that I have filed away for future reference, including the fact that I’m entitled to claim travelling expenses for all of my appointments at Montlucon and if I can persuade them at Montlucon to wash their hands of me, which they have done already, for travelling expenses to Leuven too.

But I had the shock of my life in the coffee shop round the corner where I stopped for a rest. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall the regular appearances of a young girl known by the name of Zero after an Al Stewart song, the lyrics of which were extremely relevant – a girl whom I haven’t seen for … ohhh … 8 years, I suppose. But breezing into the coffee shop was a girl who would have been the spitting image of this girl, allowing for the passage of time. Even the shade of red hair was correct to the minutest detail. The surprise was so complete that I dropped my coffee. Of course, it probably wasn’t her but nevertheless, it was an astonishing resemblance. I felt like bursting out into the Warren Zevon “there’s a red-haired girl in a red silk dress. I’m asking her to dance with me, she might say yes!”

But I dunno – it quite caught me à la depourvu, as the French say.

At the moment, the Metro is closing at 19:00 so I leapt on a bus and asked the driver to throw me out when we reach a tram route. This was at the Arsenaal and I could board a tram 25 and then the bus 71 which ended up by me being at the fritkot that does lovely falafel.

From there, another bus dropped me off at the Place Weiner from where I could take the tram 94 round to Hermann Debroux and Caliburn again.

And then back to Alison’s.

I’ve had my money’s worth today, although my leg is killing me and I’m thoroughly exhausted.

But seeing this girl has quite disturbed me. Whatever is going on these days?

5th January 2016 – BACK IN HOSPITAL

I told you yesterday that I had been summoned to the day ward today for a blood transfusion, so after at 7:00 am alarm and breakfast, I was off. There wasn’t much on the roads – at least as far as Montlucon – so I was lucky to arrive early and finding yet another good spec for Caliburn, right outside the hospital building.

And I’d remembered to take the second bank card too so that I could stop off at the bank on the way in. And now the Fighting Fund is looking a little healthier.

It was a good job that I arrived earlier at the hospital too because they were … errr … somewhat under pressure. I was lucky in being the first to arrive, for I could have the pick of the chairs in the day ward – right in the corner by the window by the power point. The others weren’t so lucky and to give you some idea of what was going on, our little ward for two people ended up with five of us in it – two on the beds, two in armchairs and one on a trolley. Maybe they REALLY couldn’t have fitted me in yesterday.

Putting the drain in my arm was another complicated manoeuvre that didn’t do me too much good and I can still feel it now.

We did have a stroke of luck though. Just after I arrived, the woman in charge of the kitchens came up to our ward to chat to the staff there just as they were counting heads for lunch. Hearing that I was “difficult”, she came over to chat to me about my vegan diet and, much to my surprise, at lunchtime I ended up with couscous, chards in sauce and a portion of lentil salad. It just goes to show what can be accomplished if you happen to fall in with the correct people.

Another surprising thing was that the blood was already there waiting for me. But it was freezing cold, so to warm it up I had to stick it up my jumper (and I bet that you think that I am joking too – the old traditional methods are much more effective than anything that modern science can come up with). And that meant that by 13:30 I was all done and dusted, and they threw me out.

Not too far though. I had to go up to the ward where I will be confined during my surgery, to pick up a letter from my surgeon. Of course, it goes without saying that it wasn’t ready (half a day is far too short a notice for a civil service secretary) but it did give me an opportunity to spy out the land while I was there. And I’ll tell you something – there are a few nurses up there who can sooth my fevered brow any time they like! There have to be some compensations for being seriously ill.

On the road again, I went round to Amaranthe to pick up some vegan cheese, only to find that it was closed for stocktaking, and to Leader Price to buy some Cheddar for Terry, but was sold out in both the branches that I visited.

I had more luck at the Clinique St Francois where I was finally able to pay my bill for the blood tests. And I’ll tell you what – I’m glad that I’m not having my operation there. The back wall of their clinic is the side wall of the local cemetery. I suppose that it’s quite handy for discreetly disposing of the surgical failures – a quick heave over the wall in the middle of the night – although it must be a discouraging view for the patients in the rooms at the back.

At Pionsat I picked up my outstanding medication, and so I went off to blag my way into the doctor’s for the injections that I need to have done to bolster my immune system (once the spleen goes, I’ll be relying on those to keep me going) but it appears than Bane of Britain has forgotten to bring the prescription with him.

But here’s a thing. Diesel at the Carrefour in Montlucon is currently 104.9 centimes. At the Intermarché in Pionsat, it’s just 99.9. It’s the first time that I’ve ever seen it cheaper there. Of course, I took the opportunity to fuel up – it’s over 100kms round trip to Montlucon and back even if I don’t go anywhere else, and that soon gets through a tank of diesel in Caliburn whose maximum range is about 750 kms or so. It’s a good job that I don’t have Strider here, who is much more thirsty and struggles to do 450 kms.

Back here I crashed out. I wasn’t up to anything at all. No food, no drink – nothing. Just like in the bad old days in mid-November. I had my injection and then crawled off to bed at some ridiculously early hour – even more ridiculous than the 20:00 of late.

Talking of bed, I’ve forgotten to tell you about last night’s adventures. I bet that you were counting your blessings, thinking that you had escaped from it all.

Not so lucky, are you then?

Anyway, last night was yet another night where there was so much going on and yet I can only remember a small amount of it. Going to bed at 20:00 or thereabouts just recently is certainly doing something for me.

We started off back at a house that I clearly recognised, but which I can’t now recall. I’d been somewhere in a car (and I can’t now recall which car) and by the time that I returned, the car was full of rubbish and totally untidy, not an unusual occurrence of course. I needed to empty the car completely before the long-suffering Nerina came back to witness the disorder, and my brother (what’s he doing here again?) came along to give me a pile of gratuitous advice. Nerina did indeed turn up, and sooner than expected too, but her car was in an even worse state than mine although that didn’t deter her from making a few acid comments.
I then moved on to another house where I was living with my family, although I don’t recognise this house at all. It was crammed with people and, furthermore, we’d let a room to three young men, a French guy (someone whom I’ve known for years but who bore more than a passing resemblance to a guy whom I know in Germany), the guy who married my youngest sister and a third guy, who may well have been the brother of the second. This had involved shuffling around the rest of the inhabitants and it was certainly causing a whole pile of confusion. It started off with me having to help a young boy of about 5 years old feed himself but that wasn’t working. He was being difficult about it and so I had to go up to the room where he had been sleeping to fetch something. He was one of the people who had been shuffled around but I had forgotten this, so I barged straight into the room where these other three people were. Back downstairs, by the time this boy had finished his meal, I reckoned that it was time for him to go to bed but he wasn’t convinced. There was only one clock in the house that was anything like reliable, and that was the bedroom where he had been sleeping. So up I went to check and, forgetting about the change of rooms, barged yet again straight into the room where these three guys were, without knocking. I was full of profuse apologies, to which they replied “it’s not a problem – it wasn’t as if we were doing anything”. My response was that knocking was a form of politeness (a comment that has a strange parallel with an event that occurred in “real time” a couple of days ago). Anyway, the young boy was correct – it was only 18:30 and far from being his bed time. It was however dinner time for the grown-ups and all of the family was there tucking in. And a few minutes later we were joined by our friends from upstairs who had to fight their way into the table as our family gives no quarter when it comes to sticking our snouts in the trough.

But all of this is really bizarre. There are several people making little cameo appearances in my night-time rambles. There are some to whom I’ve given no thought whatever for probably the last 45 years (if I ever gave them any thought back then), some people who wouldn’t give me the time of day in real life (and boy, could I tell you some stories about that), some people whose actions on the second plane totally contradict their actions on the first plane, and some people who remain totally true to type no matter on what plane of existence they are.

But never mind. As I have said before, and I’ll say again … "and again and again and again" – ed … my nocturnal rambles are much more exciting that what is going on currently in my real life, and that’s not something to be rejected.

I just wish that it was me doing the casting, choosing the characters who could take part in it. I’d have a much more exciting cast than this current lot (one or two people excepted).

Thursday 7th May 2015 – WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME …

morris minivan carrefour car park brussels begium may 2015… that you saw one of these? I can’t even remember when it was that I saw one in the UK, so I never expected to find one parked in a supermarket car park in Brussels.

I can’t remember when it was that they stopped making them but I don’t recall any later than the mid 70s so this one is at least 40 years old.

But make the most of it, because it’s not going to be here for long. To be frank, it’s an absolute nail, full of rust and rot and simply painted over, rust, rot and all, as a display advert. What a waste of a good old BMC Minivan

motorway service area nijvel nivelles brussels begium may 2015Here’s where I spent the night last night, at a motorway service area at Nivelles, on the outskirts of Brussels.

I didn’t think that I had had a particularly comfortable sleep, but I must have done, for I was off on my travels during the night. Playing in goal for Pionsat’s 3rd XI as it happens. And then I was off to see my friend Kris. She was living up on the moors right near the crest, and had a huge pile of wood that needed sorting out and would I help her?

Not too far away, on the edge of a village right on the crest, was a Muslim monastery (yes!) just like a huge castle but with an enormous tower in the centre. Round and comparatively modern (like Flemisn 15th Century architecture) it was 14 storeys high but the 14th storey had fallen off. each of the remaining storeys was let out as a separate apartment.

Each time Krys and I went somewhere we saw the tower from a different viewpoint and each time I asked her what it was, and each time she told me.

I’ve sorted out the gas issue by buying what I needed from a sports outfitters here. I reckoned that it would be cheaper then paying to eat out every night, but having had to buy it in Belgium, I’m not so sure. The price was totally shocking.

I’ve solved the beichstuhl issue too. Seeing as how IKEA was right next door to the sports outfitters, I paid them a visit. I’ve bought a galvanised metal pail, and also the curtains seeing as they had the exact colour that I need. And as you might expect, it was the most expensive that they had. I always seem to have the most expensive tastes and I just wish that I had the money to back it up.

stone kitchen worktop IKEA brussels begium may 2015Talking of expensive tastes, I’ve found exactly the worktops that I want for the bathrrom and the kitchen.

A mere €295 per square metre, but it really is beautiful and I would love to have this about the house. The biggest problem is that the worktop in the bathroom needs to be 45cms and in the kitchen 50cms, and the smallest sinks in IKEA (they have to be factory-fitted) are 45cms for the bathroom and 50cms for the kitchen.

That’s clearly not going to work so I need to have a really good think about this.

woman feeding ducks and swans etangs mellaerts brussels begium may 2015For lunch I stopped off at the Etangs Mellaerts to eat my honey and nut bread, and to watch an old woman feeding the ducks and swans.

As you can see, she had quite a crowd around her – clearly the most popular form of waterfront entertainment.

And at least, I could watch it from the van. For tea tonight I went to my favourite restaurant in Ixelles for a falafel supper, and ended up having to park a hundred miles away . Parking in Brussels these days is something of a joke, that’s for sure.

I’ve also been to sort out the bank as well. I needed to activate my bank cards for my forthcoming trip to Canada. And I took advantage while I was there of sorting out a few financial arrangements. I visited the Post Bank too – I had completely forgotten about an account there and that has been frozen. I need to contact them to reactivate it.

But here’s a thing – it’s the first time that I’ve ever been to the Post Office at Schuman and been served straight away without ever having to queue. That’s a record.

So tonight I’m on the motorway service area not too far from Leuven. I hope that the showers are working because they weren’t this morning at Nivelles.

Monday 12th August 2013 – THIS BLASTED ESTATE AGENT …

… is thoroughly and completely getting on my nerves now and I’ll be resorting to violence if we have much more of this, I promise you.

We were all at the notaire’s today and ready to sign up when the purchaser requested a six-week delay (usually a delay of 10 days) of the final act in order to confirm the acceptance of the loan.

Yes, that’s like forever, but he wasn’t willing to budge, that was clear, so I wasn’t all that bothered. So I’ll have to pay another month’s service charges on the place, but that’s a small price to pay.

I was confident that given 10 minutes with him afterwards I could have managed to persuade him to shorten his time scale no matter what he had signed up to.

But this blasted agent immobilier went on and on and on at him for about half an hour (and I had an attack of cramp while she was doing it) and wouldn’t leave him alone.

In the end I had to tell her three times to put a flaming sock in it. Then once the meeting closed she had another go at him, and then she had another go at him in the hall and then a further go at him outside.

I tell you now, I shan’t ever be doing any more business with her – it’s appalling.

We didn’t sign the compromis because yet another snag has surfaced. Marianne and I have told everyone that there’s a cellar included in the deal. And indeed there is, and Marianne (and now I) has the keys for it.

But nowhere in the deeds of the property is there any mention of the cellar. Maybe the owners of the apartments don’t own the cellars and only have the enjoyment of them, but that needs to be cleared up.

So this morning I had another exciting dream. I was part of a team of people going exploring, and we were on a kind-of converted fishing trawler on our way to some remote spot somewhere. But the guy leading the expedition was something of a martinet and at he first sign of dissent he sailed to the nearest port and offloaded the dissenter. I remember chatting to a young guy who was working on the deck above me, an open deck, and I climbed up onto his deck to have a chat, but he informed me that he was being put ashore at the next port.
The trawler had in fact turned back and after a while we sailed into a harbour in South Western Ireland just as three small Ro-Ro car ferries were leaving the harbour in line astern. We sailed up the harbour wall and onto the car park and across the car park to a building on the far side (it’s a dream, of course).
A little later I was driving a taxi with a woman passenger in the back. I was taking her somewhere where I was sure that I knew the way but at the end of the road (on the outskirts of Crewe) I couldn’t remember whether I turned left then right, or right then left. I went right then left and I was sure that it was wrong, and how I wished that I had made sure before I set out.

brussels belgium bruxelles belgique grand boulevard basilique de sacre coeur de koekelberg
So up long before the alarm, and into town. I’ve paid the outstanding property tax and that wasn’t without excitement. I also had to deal with some issues about Marianne’s succession –
Belgian Civil Servant “you don’t pay that here”
Our Hero “where do I go then?”
BCS “where it says on the letter”
OH “well you’ll have to tell me because you have the letter”
BCS “it says here (pointing) – Rue de la Regence”
OH “where’s that?”
BCS “I don’t know”
Further enquiry from a security guard (of an ethnic minority, not a Belgian) revealed that Rue de la Regence is the street at the side of the Tax Office.

Yes, you can’t make up rubbish like this, but everyone living in Belgium will tell you all about it. The whole lot of Belgians, especially Civil Servants, DiT shop workers and agents immobilier should be stood up against a wall, preferably at the tir national, and dealt with accordingly.

The same at the Post Office. I have an account at the Post Office, still registered at my Belgian address, and I want to change the address to France. Armed with a passport and French driving licence you might think that this would be easy, but I promise you that it isn’t.

She had to ask three different colleagues how to do it and none of them knew, so when she had a go on her own the computer system crashed. So that was that.

But it’s a good job that I went to my bank though. While I was activating my card (only one of them – I’ve flaming well forgotten to bring the other, haven’t I?) for Canada, the bank clerk noticed that my credit card had expired.

Luckily there was one awaiting me and so I picked that up and we activated it then and there, but by God I was lucky. I could have had a major embarrassment about that.

And then all of this flaming rubbish with the agent immobilier.

And Cecile and her mum are setting off for Brussels tomorrow. That means that, knowing Cecile, they’ll arrive some time in April 2016.

And in a master-stroke of organisation, they are taking the bus to Nantes and picking up Cecile’s car there in order to come here, rather than coming from door to door in Cecile’s mum’s car.

That means, of course, that they can only take back with them whatever they can carry on the bus rather than a whole car-load of stuff that is otherwise heading for the tip, and that defeats the whole purpose of coming here, doesn’t it?

Thursday 30 May 2013 – IT’S BEEN ANOTHER …

… one of those depressing dismal days where it has rained almost non-stop from start to finish. It started off badly when I had another one of those dramatic awakenings, where I find myself sitting bolt upright and wide awake. I was having some kind of vivid dream (and I’ve been having a few of those just recently), and although I don’t remember anything about it, I had the uneasy feeling that there was a catastrophe occurring somewhere – and it was that thought that caused me to awaken so dramatically.

Anyway, after breakfast I made a start on writing the text for my next rock radio programme for Radio Anglais but by 13:00 I abandoned it to go and pick up Marianne’s death certificates from the funeral director. I stopped off at the fritkot at the Place Flagey for some frites on the way – after all, I’m in Belgium now.

From the funeral director’s, I went to the local nick to enquire after these allegations that have been made against me and, as I had no doubt whatsoever, they have been classées sans suite. I can’t have a copy of the complaint though – I need to ask an avocat to ask the Procureur du Roi for a copy. The coppers don’t think that it’s worth the effort though. According to them, they never took them seriously, even for a moment but had to go through the motions.

From there I walked through the torrential rain across the city to my notaire to let him have one of the copies of the certificate, passing by the grounds of the European Parliament on my way

European Parliament building paul-henri spaak brussels belgiumThere was a meeting taking place and I was tempted to go in and spectate as I have done in the past, but I had other things to do. But I couldn’t resist taking a photo of the sign outside the Paul-Henri Spaak Building.

It’s true that they have extraordinary meetings there – I’ve sat through a few – but if this notice proves anything at all, it is that as long as the UK sits on its haunches and refuses to push for additional staff to deal with the increased pressure of additional translations and leaves it all up to the local Flemish-speaking Belgians whose “English doesn’t need any supervision – it’s totally perfect”, we’ll have a few more extraordinary translations too.

From the notaire’s, it was back to the bank at the Rond-point Schuman to check that nothing unusual was happening to Marianne’s bank account, and then I gave up. My knees were hurting a bit after yesterday’s marathon, I wasn’t comfortable, I was soaking wet and so I took the metro and then the tram back home where I crashed out for a couple of hours. All this walking is certainly doing me good.

Tomorrow I’m having a day off and then I’ll attack the next stage of the clearing up on Monday.