Someone has driven into the back of Caliburn this afternoon, the b*****d.

I was on my way into Brussels at lunchtime and hit a traffic queue in the Avenue Cortenberg, so I stopped. But the car behind me didn’t, and that was that.

But to keep things in the proper order, at least my neighbours were quite quiet last night. I’m not sure if those of last night were still here but I hardly heard a peep from anyone at all.

What wasn’t so good was the couple of interruptions that I had had during the night – interruptions for reasons that any man of my age will thoroughly understand.

But at least I’d managed to go on a few little voyages during the night too.

I was in New York last night. But not the New York that most people know, but the New York that we have visited on several occasions during our little nocturnal rambles. The New York of even more immense skyscrapers than it really has, and high-rise motorways and soaring bridges. And I was trying to explain to someone about what might be found in a 100-kilometre radius of the banks of one of the river. And even though I say it myself, then considering that I was deep in the arms of Morpheus I was doing really well with my explanations, although I suspect that my 100-kilometre radius was being stretched quite considerably.
Having had another interruption, I was then away with some of my family. And I wish that they wouldn’t involve themselves in my little nocturnal rambles. We were travelling somewhere, and somewhere by aeroplane too and so we needed to be at the baggage check-in pretty quickly. But could I heck convince my family of the urgency and the need to get a wiggle on, and they were taking their time and dragging things out. One member of my family went off in an old soft-top 80-inch Land Rover to fetch some more family. But he wouldn’t hurry up at all. Never mind the baggage check-in – he didn’t arrive back with us until take-off time. It was therefore quite evident that we had missed our plane for our holiday.

After breakfast, I carried on with my website, updating it with stuff that had happened while I’d been in Canada, but my heart wasn’t really in it. And so I had an idea.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that there’s a wheel-bearing on Caliburn that’s not so good and needs attention. As I’m going back to France next weekend (I hope), if I have it done there, I’ll be stranded without transport. And who knows how long it might be. But here though, with public transport, being without a vehicle is no big deal and it means that if I have it fixed here I won’t be inconvenienced and I’ll be much more at my ease for going home, and going a-wandering too.

There’s a little garage in Brussels that used to fix our Fords at work, so I rang them and booked Caliburn in. And then I hit the road. Having been off the road for two months, the wheel-bearing was squeaking even more, so it was just as well that I was going to have it done.

And then we had the issues with this Belgian … errr … driver – using the term quite loosely. And in the pouring rain too. What a performance.

Caliburn is still mobile so I dropped him off at the garage, and then I walked round to the Social Services department of my former employers. I had a few questions to ask them. Most of them I forgot to ask, yet the one that I did ask, I had what could well be described as “a disappointing reply”.

I walked up to the Schuman railway station and caught a train to Bruxelles-Nord. There was a train already there going to Leuven but just as I put my hand on the door, it pulled out. I had to wait 20 minutes for the next. And while I was waiting, I had some more disappointing news about Caliburn’s wheel bearing.

It was now rush hour and the train to Leuven was packed. And then I had a rather wet walk back to here.

But poor Caliburn. What a tragedy. I hope that the accident is nothing serious.

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