Ice, Ice, Baby

Careful - it's slippery out

Who knew that ice-skating is dangerous? Who knew that skating on ice is slippery? It just so happens that I haven't fallen over ice-skating in... well years and years. I guessed it would happen soon because I've been pushing myself to try new, complicated things which are difficult.

I was trying a simple enough movement - skate forward on left, turn change feet, backwards spiral, change, crossover... with a little jump. I'm right-footed which means that everything is easy on my right foot but my left is weaker so I sometimes struggle to balance. So I started with my left foot... after ten minutes I could do it well enough so when my teacher said "change feet" I was feeling pretty confident.

The crowded Poseidon rink

I get knocked down - but I get up again

I skated forward on my right foot and was suddenly on the floor. I landed awkwardly on my backside and hands (how I'm not sure). I got up and fully intended to carry on skating once I'd got my breath back. Then I started to feel dizzy and sick and stumbled again. My right wrist hurt a bit, but it had been numbed by the ice and the pain didn't sink in until the shock started to wear off and the wrist warmed up.

I'm used to bruises and scrapes - I did gymnastics when I was younger, climbed trees, crashed bikes etc. I've sprained my wrist several times, had concussion from playing netball and fractured a bone in my hand after tripping whilst running. I'm not accident-prone or clumsy... just active. This was pain beyond pain I've ever experienced and I was close to tears. However, I presumed it would go away after a good night's sleep.

Of course my skating teacher advised me to go to A&E as did a couple of other skaters I'm friendly with. Each told me (in a variety of French, Italian and English) that it'd be best to have it checked just in case, because it could heal wrong and I might get arthritis when I was older. At this stage it was swollen and pretty painful so I agreed to be driven to the local hospital by my skating teacher. One skater I know is a doctor so he offered to come along as well to oversee the process.

Brush yourself off and try again

We arrived at the hospital and got into the queue... ignored by the receptionist doctor who was having far too much fun wheeling around on his chair. Dr Skater got quite irritated by this: "I take off my white coat and stethoscope and they don't recognise me". He then popped to the waiting room and announced "It's Happy Hour" which was just great because it was almost 9.30pm as it was and my skating teacher had told me that when her father received a puck to the eye, he wasn't seen until 4.30am (after arriving just after 9pm). I figured we might as well get comfy...

Once my second set of forms were completed - yes we filled them out wrong the first time - we sat down in the waiting room discussing language (I was obviously rather worried I'd agree to have my arm amputated). My skating teacher told me that when she was in America, she and her family went to an Italian restaurant and ordered Margheritas. The waiter politely informed them that they didn't serve alcohol in this restaurant. Her father explained that they didn't want alcohol, they just wanted some Margheritas. The waiter again insisted they couldn't serve Margaritas so her father gave up and ordered 'cheese and tomato pizzas'.

It's not what you know - it's who you know

After we'd been sitting down for two minutes, Dr Skater came back from chatting to his friends and announced that we could go straight through. I glanced smugly at everyone else in the waiting room and went through Tin-Tin decorated corridors to a room where Dr Evil prodded and pulled my arm, wrist and hand (almost reducing me to tears), maliciously enquiring whether or not it hurt.

Feeling thoroughly assaulted I gave him my best stare, went back to the corridor and had barely sat down before I was having my arm X-rayed by Dr Teenager (overseen by Dr Skater who had pulled a lot of strings by the sound of it). Everyone was pretty sure it was broken but apparently I have strong bones. The results showed there were no breaks, fractures or fissures, just a torn ligament - Grade III sprain - I was strapped up and given some Ibuprofen Teva. The whole process took less than an hour! Go Sproutland!

Dad: You look like an armadillo!

Just whistle while you work

The next day was Friday and my arm was still really painful. Not one to complain I got on with my daily routine:

• Showering - washing hair and body presented no problem. Putting the towel around me was impossible.
• Getting dressed - tedious but doable. Bra - putting it on one-handed was not humanly possible.
• Beautification - lenses and make-up were manageable. Combing of the hair difficult.
• Working - typing with my left hand was fine, but slow. Taking notes during a conference call didn't work.
• Eating - using a fork was fine. Taking hot crockery out of the microwave unpleasant.
• Making a hotty - fine the first time; the second time I scalded my left leg!

Needless to say, my plans for this weekend were scuppered, although I did manage to pack most of my stuff, but it was time-consuming and annoying.

Get back on that horse

I'm very glad I didn't break my wrist, especially as I start my new job a week tomorrow and being unable to type isn't particularly useful... not least when you're a professional writer!

I did miss my skating lesson yesterday (and it would have been my last one), but it's my last few days in Brussels and I am definitely going tomorrow, even if it's for just twenty minutes (I want to buy a souvenir Poseidon ice-skating teddy). After all - there's nothing wrong with my feet!

Life's a Beach

Livin' la vida loca

Well, as loca as you can be in Barcelona in February... however as I sat at the airport eating my 'Fast-Quick Pizza' - a flat bread folded over and dabbed with tomato sauce and cheese - I realised it had been almost 4 years since I was last there which, as it's one of my favourite cities (along with London, Paris and Zaragoza), is quite shocking. There's something about those sort of places which is imaginative and exciting - a bit like Camden Town or Brighton - full of people who just are who they are.

I did go a bit crazy on the plane actually and I've definitely been living in Brussels too long. When the air hostess asked me if I wanted anything (I'd read the menu about 6 times at this point), I ordered a bizcochito and a Coke Zero. The fact that she didn't understand Coke Zero didn't bode well for a weekend in Spain... and when I said it in English, she frowned and said 'Ah Coca-Cola Zero'. I felt foolish. The madness was my willingness to pay €4 for what was effectively a cereal bar and a can of soft drink (in my defence it was 330ml, not 180ml like most flights), because it seemed reasonable!

We had a rendezvous - fly to Cambodia Barcelona

It felt quite celebrity-like meeting my boyfriend in a foreign country but, after embracing me he began to rant about how much he'd paid for his liquids through security - he's used to checking luggage in! When we got to our 5* hotel (amazing what you can find on Google when you know about SEO), they couldn't find our reservation (obviously), so we stood there for a while whilst the man in a suit stared at his computer. Not that I was worried when he kept going to speak to his colleague and then coming back and frowning...

Finally he gave us our keys and off we went to our apartment. Europeans love their energy-saving light bulbs and the rooms were pretty dark, although we had two televisions and two fridges, which is probably why we overslept.

What is this world if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?

So a sunny (if chilly) day dawned and we found ourselves sitting in a café on Las Ramblas eating croissants and coffee (me); tortilla baguette and orange juice (the boy), followed by an amble down the ramble... into the shops (his choice not mine) to buy a new shirt and pair of jeans from his new favourite shop - Springfield.

What then followed was touristy stuff and things, as well as lots of strawberry pencils and a quest to find my favourite wine - Gran Feudo Julian Chivite Dulce de Moscatel - if anyone finds it, BUY IT and I will be completely in your power. We didn't find it, but tried a similar one (Gran Feudo Chardonnay), plus some sangria.

Mañana, mañana

Naturally one has to see a bit of Gaudi 'stuff' so we wandered around Parc Güell for a few hours, watched a fantastic band play under an arch and got stuck in a flowerbed. We then had the most amazing Sandwich (it deserves capitalisation) in a teeny café owned by a lovely old couple who twigged we were English just before we left and he gave us a huge smile as he said 'Good bye'.

So, the Sagrada Familia. I have to say they don't seem to have made any progress since I was last there. There's still a lot of scaffolding, builders and unfinished towers. However, it may be finished soon as it seems to now be sponsored by Nike. Just Built It.

One valiant cry; we've got a name that everyone knows: Barça, Barça, Baaarça! 

So on Saturday night we thought we'd do something we've never done together. Something I've never done at all. We went to a football match! Not just any football match however - we went to watch Barcelona FC (the best team in the world I'm told), including Messi (the best player in the world I'm told).

Our seats were amazing - right behind the goal, second row from the front.
This was my view:


and this was my boyfriend's:
 

I quite enjoyed it, as the atmosphere was pretty awesome, but it was freezing and my toes were numb before the game even started. Then during the interval (oh, half-time) they'd run out of coffee... I had to content myself with a dodgy hot dog which was given to me by a lady who had just touched a raw sausage. Nice.

Food, Glorious Food!

Breakfast wasn't included with our room, but we took advantage of it after the football and it was immense. Mountains of cereal, waffles (they were so much nicer than in Belgium), cheeses, meats, eggs, fruit, coffee, hot chocolate etc. The couple in front of us ignored each other and just watched some film on their SmartPhone, whilst another table just ate and ate and ate - judging by the size of them I don't think they'd ever left the hotel.

Deal or No Deal: Or Else

I've always loved Spanish TV (apart from the naked game shows), and when my beloved was feeling ill (I blame the hot dog, followed by a massive breakfast) I amused myself with a TV quiz show called Ahora Caigo (Now I Fall). It's basically an easy quiz show in the style of Deal or No Deal: What is the nickname of Ernesto Guevara? Clue: _H_

However, if you get the question wrong, the trapdoor you're standing on opens and you plunge down into a pot of gunk... well, maybe not but that would be even funnier.

Adieu and farewell, to you fair Spanish (and Belgian) ladies

In other news, I am moving back to England! Hurrah!

O to be in England, now that February's (almost) here

It might as well be spring

I like spring. After the Ice Queen that is winter (beautiful and deadly) decides to give up for another year, her younger sister comes along to remind us exactly why we all continue living in England.


Being British I grew up talking about the weather, which tends to dominate our lives. I avoid going out when it's raining, I love wearing short dresses in the summer (OK, all year round), and I (mostly) love how beautiful snow looks in the winter.


Spring is an entirely different season though, as you don't expect anything. In England there's no guarantee that summer will be hot and sunny, or that winter will be glacial and snowy, but you do hope. Spring (and to some extent autumn) continues to surprise you with boiling hot, dry days, freezing cold rain and even snow!


Brussels on the other hand (as my wise ex-colleague did warn me) seems to delight in being spring-like all year round. On Friday I was carrying my coat because it was so mild, yesterday I had to change because it started pouring down, and today I went off for a run and it began to snow.

There's no place like home

Soon I will be back home in Blighty... something I've looked forward to since September. However, when I spoke to my boss about leaving, I (and he actually) got quite emotional, which surprised me. However, I know I'm making the right decision and am now focusing on my return to England.


An English spring is supposed to be comprised of baby animals, green meadows, daffodils, blossom and breezes, mixed with chocolate eggs, a sudden invasion of yellow bikinis in the shops and hot cross buns. People all seem to be happier, because summer is on its way, and we can finally throw our coats away, and start panicking about our post-Christmas flesh which will soon want to be on show.

This is England - what we're supposed to die for

That depressing thought aside, I started to think of all the things I've missed over the last 5 months. After a fleeting visit from the boy last weekend, I'll admit that this week did include chocolate fingers, Diet Coke and (my personal favourite) a Cheesy Beano (which for you non-English or peasants means cheese and baked beans on toast, not a comic featuring Dennis the Menace).


Now I know I am what is classed as an 'introvert' but recently I've been doing a lot of thinking... either at the ice rink or when walking to walk (which takes an hour each time there's a public strike - one tomorrow in fact), and it strikes me that I may have been a bit stupid over the last few months.


Yes I've found out that I'm not dead inside, that I do have feelings, and that I can cry... but what have I missed out on whilst living in the centre of Europe? And what will I miss when I return to Britannia?

England is mine and I take what I want

• Marmite vs Speculoos - NOW there's a question. They say you either love it or hate it... but I just like it. I brought a tiny jar with me, and I sometimes have a cheese and Marmite sandwich but I could live without it. Speculoos on the other hand has become an obsession - Unlike peanut butter, I'm a crunchy girl and I'm not ashamed to say I eat it out of the jar. I've always liked the biscuits, I've had the chocolate (Galak is the best), the ice-cream (Häagen-Dazs beats Lotus), homemade fudge (thanks to my amazing American friend) and even the coffee (just weird). 

• Diet Coke vs Coca Cola Light - Yes it will give me cancer, but I love Diet Coke. Coca Cola Light is FOUL and leaves a bad taste in your mouth. This was causing me endless pain, until I tried Coke Zero, which in England I avoid, but in Brussels tastes like Diet Coke. That'll do.

• Tube vs Metro - This is a tough call. A monthly metro pass (tram, bus, metro) costs €45 (before my company reimburses most of it), whereas in London you're looking at spending well-over £100. However, in Brussels the stops are further apart, and they strike regularly.

• Skype vs Mobiles - obviously I'd rather see people face-to-face, but it's quite nice to chat to people on Skype. Being abroad makes most people (you know who you are if you've been flaky) make an effort to speak to you, more than when you live in the same country. I loved speaking to friends and knowing that you can still chat about everything and nothing for over an hour. I've also spoken to my family more than usual. Also - Skype is free and won't give me cancer.

• Euro vs Pound - I hate the Euro, and never want it in the UK. BUT - when I've gone abroad this year, I can use my ING card and not have to worry about forgetting to exchange currency. On the other hand, when I go shopping I am getting done. I bought a dress yesterday for €35 (£29.40)... but it the UK price was £26.99. So I paid £2.41 more than if I'd been in England. Yes I got student discount, but I would've got that in the UK so I was still ripped off! Everything is more expensive here, and you get used to it, but it still breaks your heart when you know things are cheaper in London!

• Poseidon vs Spectrum - Now I'm hoping that I will find an ice rink near to wherever I end up living, but I know that the Spectrum is £5.70, for 90mins, whereas at Poseidon I pay €4.20 and can skate all day if I want. Also, my lessons here are only €6 and I know they'll probably be £20+ in the UK.

• Liptons vs PG Tips - Now I'm not a big tea drinker, but they really cannot do tea in Brussels. They try, but the teabags break when they're in the mug, the water is detestable and the milk is UHT (which I don't mind normally, but in tea it's just wrong). However, Lipton Ice Tea Zero is pretty awesome.

• Brits vs Belgians - I love stereotypes, and yesterday on the bus there was a man wearing a stripy jumper and a beret. He also had a wonderful moustache! Belgians are incredible as they speak Dutch, French and English. I do enjoy this multi-lingual culture and the pride they have of their language. Also - they don't really have chavs here! I will miss the Belgian (real or pretend) friends I have made.

This country's good

I have no idea which country is winning... probably Belgium if I'm honest (if you haven't tried Speculoos you won't understand) but I think being able to see my friends and family (which I am going to do a lot more often because I will be able to) definitely beats being away from everything and everyone you love. More importantly, I will bring a carload of Speculoos (and the white chocolate spread) back with me!

Britannia rules the waves

I am proud to be British, and happy to be coming back to my country.

Just in case you've missed my point, here's a thought from a true British actor, in one of the greatest British films of our time:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UnBSh3JRQVw

Escargot Delirium

When in Rome Brussels, do as the Romans Belgians do

Well, that's not as easy as you might think. My friend Banana stayed this weekend, and we decided to make like a tourist and explore the city.

So on Friday evening, we ate pesto pasta and watched A Little Princess and It Takes Two in our pyjamas with wine. Tres Belgique n'est pas?

Saturday dawned fair and bright so we began our Belgian day with a pastry and a smoothie which we devoured as we sauntered to the Metro station. A café break for coffee and tea (and a small piece of dark chocolate) allowed Banana to practise her French. "I'd like a cup of tea please." followed closely by "Oh, could I have some milk?"

So far so good.

Journey to the centre of the Earth Brussels

Our amble took us under the ornate jubilee arch and across the park, before coming to the ugliest building in Brussels, aka the EU building which gives you that warm, cosy feeling of David Cameron kicking ass here a few weeks ago.

Next stop - via the square that is full of fountains in the summer, meaning that everyone runs across it just in case they suddenly come on - is Parc Leopold and the Palace. However, neither of these wonders was quite as exciting as a hot waffle from a van, and a statue of a naked lady.


Past the funky clock and into the cathedral, which is full of camera flashes, despite the many signs (in about 8 languages) asking visitors to not use flash.

And so into the Grand Place. Many intakes of breath, but all this is forgotten almost immediately with the sight of the wonderful Manneken Pis (dressed in what appeared to be school uniform) and the Belgian chocolates. For what is more amazing than a small statue of a boy weeing, and 6 boxes of chocolates for €9.90?

High above the mucky-muck, castle made of clouds

After a light lunch (croque-monsieur and omelette), we perused the shops. This was rather tedious however, because they were full of people. So we abandoned this and hopped on a metro to Heizel - home of a wonderful picture of Brussels Sprouts with the slogan 'Brusselicious'. Excellent.

Of course there is also a remarkable statue thing in the shape of an atom - the Atomium - and we decided to pay a visit to the top. The view came at a price (€11), but we went to the exhibition as well. This involved climbing up and down a lot of stairs and escalators, pretending to be interested in an event that happened over 50 years ago, when actually we were just taking silly photos amongst all the architectural models.



Nothing for it but to return on the tram and read educational magazines (Heat and Closer), and have a nutritious snack (truffles).

Forget all your troubles, forget all your cares and go down town

SO - time for traditional Belgian cuisine, and we headed back into the centre - destination: Tourist Alley. The trick is to make it to the other end without going into a restaurant... I'm getting better! This time, we managed to snare a free glass of champagne, and 3 courses for a reasonable €12. Excellent. In we went.

Naturally being tres belgique we chose escargots a l'ail so the waiter brought over our implements. My first thought was that they were for curling my hair, or scraping plaque off my teeth. However, on closer inspection I could see they were tong-like things for picking up snails, and a sharp prodder for stabbing them?

Mr Waiter approached the table, "is it your first time madame?" (Now I thought this was quite an impertinent question, so gave him my best stare). He then explained to ze eenglish peegs exactly how to eat les escargots, emphasising that it was important to keep the shell within the tongs, whilst stabbing and scraping the dead slug out "otherwise your friend will get a bath". 

Excellent advice, and we got through the starter garlic-free.

A hangover is the wrath of grapes

Obviously, after dinner we wanted a couple of drinks, so after deciding against the Irish karaoke bar with the police outside and a drunken tourist singing Eminem, we found a cocktail bar full of trees. Perfect. 

After trying for 15 minutes to find the Delirium -which had clearly disappeared - our next stop was a clearly 'upmarket' establishment.

Upon entering the pitch black bar, we were shown to a table for two, given menus and allowed to choose our drinks. We ordered, and then I was asked to order again as my choice wasn't available. This I did, and my cocktail appeared. The woman who brought it rubbed her thumb and forefinger together and stared expectantly. She then announced "you owe me a euro" which was odd as she'd given me 3 as change. I started to give her the coin, but she shook her head and said "I owe you a euro". I never got this money... so perhaps she said (as she dumped an ashtray full of crisps in front of us) "they cost a euro". 

After 10mins and a swift "Ou est le boisson de mon ami?" there was still only one drink... and each time he walked past he said "moment, moment".

Meanwhile, a giant disco ball came rolling down the stairs, narrowly missing our table... Shortly after this, the lady who (allegedly) owed me money ran past with a tray of crisps ashtrays which crashed to the floor. These were promptly swept behind a chair...

There's no such thing as a free lunch club entry

After downing the drinks (which came just as we'd decided to leave), we left and made the decision to go to a club we'd been given free entry to... this was a severe error of judgement. It was tiny, and almost empty, and the drinks list consisted of bottles of spirits (€60), special spirits (€70), and a few paupers drinks (one Malibu and coke was €9). Drunken men 'danced' on a block of wood in the middle of the 'club', punching the air and spinning around... I think they were having a fake fight.

Needless to say, we left soon after (at the reasonable time of 12.30), and ended our day in true British style, with two episodes of Mock the Week.

Happy New Year

January 2012
It's the first week of January, and that means that most people are convincing themselves that they need to sort their lives out. New job, new house, new body, new lifestyle... new obsessions. Why do we do this? Christmas seems such a good idea - spend a fortune on presents, food and alcohol, and then after it's all over, we all get a guilty conscience.

The most common guilt trips seem to be:

• Eating too much over Christmas
• Drinking too much over Christmas
• Spending too much over Christmas
• Not exercising enough over Christmas
• Not sleeping enough over Christmas

Looking at the above I can safely say that I feel like they all apply to me. However, not in the same way as most people.

• I barely eat anything in Brussels - cooking for one is boring and uninteresting, and food is expensive
• I don't really drink in Brussels - I live far away from the centre, and refuse to drink in my room alone
• The Eurostar wasn't cheap - that raised my December outgoings rather a lot
• I do a lot of exercise in Brussels - 40mins walking a day, plus skating, stair climbing and yoga
• I came back to Brussels shattered (getting up at 6.30am GMT after being used to getting up at 9am)

I suppose after enjoying ourselves (or not), people feel they need to start the New Year by being good (boring). I made some New Year's resolutions... but had already broken most of them by Jan 2nd!

My New Year's Resolutions

• Drink less - I had to finish the bottle from New Year's Eve (Jan 1st), then was offered mulled wine (Jan 2nd), white wine (3rd Jan, 4th Jan), went out with a new friend (5th Jan). Yesterday I did not drink any alcohol (Result)
• Be positive - I got on the Eurostar and watched a film. Got back to the empty house and wanted to come home (2nd Jan). Now the end is in sight however, it seems much easier and I am persevering.
• Stop procrastinating - my CV needed updating... I cleaned my room, stripped the bed, cleaned the bathroom, culled FB friends, organised my birthday, and wrote this blog. Oops.
• Run a half marathon - this needs to be booked. Watch this space.

My boyfriend's decided to do something that scares him each month... I'm sure I can think of a few things he could give a go!

Christmas time is family time

I had a fantastic Christmas this year. I saw loads of friends, had several Christmas dinners, and enjoyed being with mine and my boyfriend's families. I love traditions, so it's fun to think how we'll eventually combine them... probably by getting fat!

My family eat on Christmas Eve (it saves stress on Christmas Day), and eat whatever we want on Christmas Day. The boy's family have dinner on Christmas Day AND Boxing Day. SO - we could get 3 Christmas dinners each year if we time it right :) 

Other traditions include disguising presents (my family), and starring presents for the same people (his family) so they open them together.

Both of our families are quite similar actually. They both spread presents out over several days, enjoy playing games and Christmas walks. This year my boyfriend's dad had made a fab quiz which caused a lot of entertainment (yes, we did win), whereas my family preferred long-winded Trivial Pursuit. Add in the Downton Christmas Special, walking on the beach, mulled wine and cracker jokes and it was perfect!

I suppose I should go and update my CV... although I could paint my nails, and book my trip to Germany :)

Dreaming of a White Christmas

Oh the weather outside is frightful...
I'm sitting here in my room watching the whirling snowflakes fly past the window... The cars and rooftops have a beautiful dusting and, with only 7 days to go, perhaps this year it will be a white Christmas.

Normally, the idea of snow on Christmas Day would fill me with a childlike delight, at the thought of mulled wine by the fire, with snow laying round about, deep and crisp and even.

However, I think I've finally grown up because I do not want it to be snowing right now. I'd rather it didn't rain either, but if I had to choose... I might actually choose the non-frozen kind of precipitation.

I'll be home for Christmas... hopefully
The truth is, the last couple of years have warranted dreadful horror stories. People getting on the Eurostar with big sighs of relief... only to get to Calais and be told that they're being sent back to Brussels because of the snow... Others were stuck at St Pancras for 12 hours, whilst others were turned away at the barriers!

I'm terrified that this will happen to me, and I really wish I'd taken this week off as well, or at least worked from home. Even a train on Thursday would have been more sensible. But no. I decided to leave on Friday because I hate taking time off work.

You're a mean one, Mr Grinch
The weather forecast doesn't say snow, so why am I worrying? Well, it wasn't predicted for this weekend, yet Friday evening it began to snow, and had settled by 7pm, meaning I was pushed back and couldn't meet the boy at the station.

Wet feet, wet socks and a coat covered in snow was not the way I'd planned on spending my weekend. There were a few flurries yesterday amongst the rain, and then this evening after I bid a fond farewell to my boyfriend, down it came, thicker and faster than ever.

Yes it's beautiful, but it's also deadly. I don't have any suitable footwear for snow, as both pairs of sensible boots have now got holes in thanks to the cobblestones. Ten mins of walking, and my feet are frozen...

All I Want for Christmas...
So here's my Christmas wish. It can snow all it wants on Christmas Eve once I'm back in England, but ideally it won't snow until Boxing Day evening, when I'm all snug by the fire with my boyfriend, and don't care if I'm stuck there until February!

It's Christmas time, there's no need to be afraid... or is there?

Christmas time, mistletoe and (mulled) wine
Christmas is a tricky subject. Everyone seems to like Christmas, yet at the same time we all hate it. 


Normally I like the run up to Christmas - buying presents, decorating trees, wrapping gifts... and drinking copious amounts of mulled wine and Baileys hot chocolate (although not at the same time).


But on Christmas Day I become the Grinch. Traditions have changed because we're all older and we're not all in the house for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We all want to sleep until 11am, and the concept of Christmas food is far less exciting when you're older and know that eating an entire packet of chocolate fingers is not a good idea.


Overall though, I love it - especially winding everyone up by playing Christmas songs the minute I've opened the first door on my advent calendar.


Fairytale of Brussels
However, living abroad is entirely different and I admit I've been disappointed with the preparations in Belgium. As there is St Nicholas' Day (December 6th), the focus is on that for the whole of November (once Hallow'en is over), and even now there are very few Christmas decorations, and a shocking lack of Christmas lights.


I was on Oxford Street a few weeks ago, and they know how to light up the world - I don't care if it's tacky, overdone or a waste of electricity. Lighten up people - it's Christmas - the one time of year England actually does something properly!


Over here the concept of Christmas markets is a famous tradition - we have them in England now, and they're nice for a few hours. Plenty of 'stuff' available, and sometimes mulled wine.


Belgium however has a different approach... the focus is on outdoor ice rinks, which people queue up for... after drinking Glühwein (pay an extra 1€ and you can even add amaretto or rum), or perhaps Chocolat Chaud (with Baileys, rum, Cointreau etc.). I find this an excellent combination, especially as you often get offered a free shot if you buy two cups. Nothing like a bit of drunken ice-skating when it's cold and dark...

 If you get hungry at a market in England, you perhaps indulge in a mince pie or two... whereas the Belgians prefer a Big White Sausage, some waffles and crêpes.


I've been to loads of Christmas markets so far this year, including markets in Brussels, Bruges and Gent, and they're all very similar (Gent was a bit more festive though as the choir of Queen's College, Cambridge were singing in the cathedral, and it was beautiful), although with a sort of magic about them (I think it's the smell).




I'll be home for Christmas...
My main problem is that I'm not home for the Christmas preparations... and it upsets me. There's nothing I like more than decorating my parents' house, glass of mulled wine in hand and the Christmas 'tape' in the background. The smell of Christmas all around, and the joy of 'remembering' decorations as they come out of the box. 


My silver and purple Christmas tree won't be the way I like it, I'll miss the Christmas carols in the high street (free mulled wine and mince pies), and I'm going to have to wrap my presents on Christmas eve - something I despise. I'll also miss the Christmas food shopping. I like food shopping anyway, but at Christmas it's so much more fun because you can spoil yourself. 


I also like general Christmas shopping - scarves, gloves, coat and a red nose... traipsing in and out of shops where you have to undress because it's too hot. The best part is sitting in Starbucks afterwards with an empty purse and a bulging bag, drinking out of the red cups, and mentally crossing things off a list. Not to mention teasing everyone about what you've got them, and keeping it all secret.


Here? Well, it's not quite the same sitting in front of a computer, or asking people to buy things for you. I'm also paranoid it's going to snow so I won't be able to get home!


Where are you Christmas?
Just to prove that I'm not the Grinch, I must say I'm very festive right now - how can one not feel festive with the prospect of carols around the corner, and more vin chaud?


I just don't think that it's quite up to England's standards - call it commercialised, I call it wonderful. One month out of twelve when we're all slightly less selfish than normal, and indulging in festive cheer - why do people complain so much.


I'd also just like to point out that if people don't like Belgian produce, or gifts from Amazon, they're going to be very disappointed this year!

The sun does not shine upon this fair earth to meet frowning eyes

Around the World in 80 Days
Well it feels like it anyway. Thanks to the clocks going back, and travelling a lot, the last 2 weeks have been extremely confusing as I've been constantly changing my watch! Definitely confusing, although not as bad as when my dad flew from America to England to Japan. That's gotta suck!


Whilst on my travels, I started to feel a bit ashamed of being English. Not because we're a nasty race, but because we're a lazy one. We spend our lives going on holiday and doing business with people who speak English as well as (if not better than) our own countrymen.


I've just got back from Cyprus, and one thing that struck me was how at ease they were with English. They were able to make jokes that British people could relate to.


Dinner for Schmucks
Our first night in Cyprus, we went to a Cypriot restaurant called Venezia. The decoration itself was fantastic - a cross between Teletubby Land and Bill & Ben's garden - the walls were adorned with wheelbarrows, sunflowers and even scarecrows. I wish I'd taken a photo.


Upon opening the menu (which was expertly translated into English) I saw the children's menu, offering smaller portions to those aged under 12. A postscript however advised that 'persons over the age of 80, may also select their meal from the children's menu, if they are accompanied by at least one parent'. 


The smiling waiter took our drinks order, and after discussing wines and remarking on our good choices, he turned to my boyfriend asking 'and for the gentleman?' When met with the response 'Diet coke' his eyes lit up, and when he brought the drinks over, fussing about pouring our wine, and asking us to taste it, he dramatically presented 'the gentleman's' diet coke with a bright pink straw. For some reason, my beloved decided not to order a salad...


Maybe he should have done, because a little cat sat by his chair for most of the evening pleading for some meat, and occasionally placing its paws on his chair! 


Life is no Picnic
Dining al fresco is something we Brits love. Perhaps it's because it doesn't happen very often, or because food tastes so much nicer out of doors. Either way, I like it... except when you have to deal with bugs, wind or sand. 


One day we drove up into the Troodos mountains, and stopped at a little park to admire the breathtaking scenery, and to enjoy our lunch. Houmous is one of my favourite snacky foods, and the Cypriot version was pretty awesome, and we also had a halloumi pie (I am also rather fond of halloumi). I was quite excited, and although it was chilly in the mountains, it was still sunny, and nothing a cardigan wouldn't solve.


Of course, the minute we stepped out of the car we were surrounded (literally) by these weird beetles. They landed on us, the bags, the ground... everywhere. I don't think they were carnivorous, poisonous or dangerous, but it reminded me of a cross between Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, and The Mummy. If you've seen those films, you'll understand the sheer volume of these flying bugs. In the end we got back in the car (occasionally opening doors to flick beetles out), and drove down to a viewpoint. We then enjoyed an indoor picnic, in classic British style. 


Just Keep Swimming...
I am not a fan of swimming. Wearing a swimming costume, getting wet and being cold just isn't fun, and I avoid it as much as possible. Each morning however, my boyfriend (big fan of swimming) and I would go down to the pool before breakfast. This usually involved him swimming a few lengths, whilst I slowly walked in, flinching and squealing at how cold it was, before finally submerging myself and getting on with it. 


One morning I changed tack and sat on the side reading whilst dipping my feet in. Suddenly a well-dressed man approached me looking stern. "Excuse me," he began as I met his eye looking guilty, "don't drop your book in the pool. It will get wet". Then he winked at me and laughed, before pretending to push me in. Hilarious...


Bed, Bed, I Couldn't Go to Bed...
I'm no stranger to strange sleeping arrangements, but I am quite excited about sleeping in my own bed over Christmas. Since living in Brussels I've slept in a single bed (something I haven't experienced since I was in the first year at university), a bunk bed (yes I banged my head and sprained my wrist slipping off the ladder), and a double mattress on the floor (just not the same as an actual bed).


The apartment in Cyprus had two bedrooms, and the boy and I had two 3/4 size single beds. Naturally we pushed them together, but they didn't quite reach so most of the week we were both curled up, lacking space in one, or sleeping separately.  Always good fun, but a darn sight more comfortable than trying to sleep on a plane. 


Our flight was at 1.30am and after an hour or so, they turned off the lights and we all tried to sleep. However, the televisions kept coming on suddenly which immediately woke you from your very light sleep and temporarily blinded you. It was also freezing, and I will never understand the concept of air conditioning in offices and planes at any time that isn't the summer.


I also failed to sleep on the Eurostar, which was delayed, and arrived in Brussels just after midnight. By the time I got to my mattress, it was after 1am, and needless to say I was pretty shattered. 


All's Well that Ends Well
For the record, I had a brilliant time in Cyprus. The weather was fantastic, the locals friendly, and the food exquisite (onion allergies presented no problem). There's also a lot of history around which I loved, and wandering around ancient temples with a gorgeous sea view behind you is a mesmerising experience.

Skating on thin ice can get you into hot water

England and America are two countries separated by a common language
Language is a funny thing, especially English as we have so many idioms, proverbs, clichés etc. I've found myself flitting between being very English (saying golly, gosh, jolly hockey sticks), and adopting a slight accent which is neither French nor German, but kind of European with a hint of American. It's no wonder that people don't usually have a clue what I am talking about.

I say potato, and you say... patata, pomme de terre, Kartoffel

I was in a shop on Saturday, and asked the sales assistant (in my very best French) if she had a pair of boots in a size 38. She looked bemused, before asking me in broken English if I spoke English. I was rather insulted, as I'd checked my French and have been told I have a good accent. Of course, I then realised she didn't speak French! Classic - silly of me to presume that a shop assistant in the very centre of Brussels would speak French!

Everyone else in the centre seemed to be English... my Romanian friend and I went for coffee at 'Drug Opera - the most famous pub corner in Brussels' - which coincidentally does rather nice crêpes - and were gazing in envy at the sundaes and crêpes at the next table. We then had a short conversation about 'bingo wings' and 'food babies' (her English is very good, but ridiculously colloquial), before realising that the people gorging themselves on ice-cream were English, and were finding our conversation hilarious. Our coffee did come with a scoop of (ice-)cream, a wafer biscuit and a mini chocolate though so we didn't feel too smug and skinny!


I speak as I find
Anyway, it got me thinking about language - something I love, and which I've studied in many variations. I mentioned it to my housemates (who are German), and we traded idioms. These are a few that spring to mind, and they are very wise:

• Was Hänschen nicht lernte, lernt Hans nimmer mehr. (What little Hans didn't learn, (grown-up) Hans will never learn) - You can't teach an old dog new tricks
• Dumm fickt gut (Simpleminded fucks well) - Blondes have more fun
• Eigenlob stinkt (self-praise stinks) - Don't blow your own trumpet

It was quite fun trying to explain them though, particularly 'pot calling the kettle black'!

Toilet Humour

My English friend left work yesterday, so we went to a pizzarium (no idea), and had the 'all you can eat buffet'. It wasn't an option. Either we all did, or we all just had individual slices. 

So the Italian owner (in his slippers), and his wife (drinking wine) brought out wooden boards with pizza slices (and by slice I mean 4cm x 6cm) on. We didn't get to choose... so we got Margherita (on ciabatta bread, but nice), and then Quattro Formaggio (no tomato sauce but OK). Then it got strange. There was (among others):

• Courgette and smoked salmon (none of us tried this)
• Aubergine and parmesan (a bit weird)
• Potato and cream cheese (so wrong)
• Gouda and black truffle paste (tasted like anchovies - bleurgh)... 
• Feta with rocket and sundried tomatoes (different)

After he'd brought out 6 varieties, he told us we could now choose which slices we wanted. Most of us were full, but after 4 'slices' I definitely hadn't had my 10.90€ worth (I am my mother's daughter), so I nibbled another two on principle.

Meanwhile, my Austrian friend had got up to use the toilet, and ten minutes later reappeared from a side door looking embarrassed. She'd only gone upstairs into the owner's apartment... it wasn't until she found the bedroom that she realised she'd gone wrong! I don't know if she confused privée with privy, but it was quite funny, and the Italian guy was in hysterics!

For my part, it was Greek to me
So earlier today I was explaining to my colleague that if he went to London for the weekend he wouldn't have to spend loads of money on eating out because of our voucher scheme. I received an email from Zizzi offering me two courses for £12.95, so I used this as an example.


"I like Zizzi. It's pretty good, and you can often get it for half price. Plus there are loads in London."
He looked at me oddly, and raised his eyebrows. "What?! Is that the name of a restaurant? Do you know what Zizi means in French?"


I looked it up. 


zizi (familier) /zizi/masculine nounwilly (familier) GB, wiener (familier) US, penis.

zizi	nm		ding-a-ling
zizi	nm	Familier Colloquial	dink
zizi	nm		dick

So that was unfortunate...  

In other news...

• I start ice-skating lessons tomorrow
• I know far too much about forklift trucks
• I finally have my lunch vouchers - €6 a day and you get change in cash
• I fly to Cyprus on Wednesday
• I've been here just over one month
• I've read the only books I brought with me
• It's 73 days until Christmas

And on that note... I need to go and do yoga because I have a bikini to wear!

Food, Glorious Food

Introducing the new Brussels Diet
I kid you not. Never mind Low GI, Atkins, Cabbage Soup and all the other ridiculous diet fads. The best way to get in shape is to move to Brussels.


Yes I was homesick and didn't eat for a while, but I got over that. Everyone is slim here, and I was trying to figure out why. One key difference is that they don't snack throughout the day like us Brits (no vending machine - what?). But it's actually very simple: it's just too difficult to do!


Don't do lunch - du lunch
We went out for lunch on Friday, and I ordered the chicken, bacon and cheddar club wrap with chips and salad - a tad expensive at 8€, but it sounded amazing. It wasn't. 

• Firstly, it was plastic bread rolled up. 
• Secondly, it was a ham like substance that may once have been waved at a chicken. 
• Thirdly, bacon in Europe is not what it is in England. It's that fatty dark ham. 
• Finally, it was NOT cheddar. Instead it was the plastic square cheese you buy to put on burgers when you're catering for a large number of people. 

To top it off, my accompanying salad was covered in mayonnaise, despite my 'sans oignons, sans mayonnaise' chat. It seems they can't believe you don't want it at all - surely you will want it on your salad?

Also their fries (the Belgians invented chips by the way), are fried twice, so for someone like me who isn't a huge fan of once fried chips, they're basically another no-no.


Luckily, I went to Guides and happily peeled away the innards, and ate my plastic bread dipped in ketchup, leaving the remnants of my 'club sandwich' on my plate.


Supermarket Sweep

I (finally) got paid yesterday, so as I was skipping from the bank to Carrefour I was quite excited about the dinner I was going to cook. Yes, cook. I wandered around the supermarket working out cheaper options (bag of frozen, raw, discount prawns was only €3 for 28-33 king prawns), and choosing my veg, happy as Larry (whoever he may be). As many of you will know, I have a tendency to eat too much ice-cream, so I thought I'd have a browse. White Chocolate Magnums. Yes. 

However, much as I like them, they are quite sickly, and I usually eat half before I start to regret it. Therefore I was rather annoyed to discover I had to buy 8. They were running a promotion so it was two boxes for the price of one, but the boxes were tied and sealed together. I may have wanted a combination of flavours AND I have limited space in my freezer. The fact that I was forced to buy 8 (in England this is a breach of advertising law) annoyed me. Now, because they were in my freezer, I will (eventually) eat 8 magnums. 

Anyway, I went to the checkout, pulled out my ORANGE bank card with a flourish, and put in my pin number. Of course, the machine decided I had insufficient funds in my bank account and wouldn't let me pay. Cue pigeon French explaining it was a new card and I would go and get some cash out.

So off to the cash point I go. Put in my card, and hey presto I have money. Then I realised the machine didn't dispense cash. So I used the other one... which was out of 20€ notes. And 50€ notes. And 100€ notes. So, I waited for the remaining cash machine which dispensed cash, and had 20€ notes.

Back to the supermarket I went. And queued, before smugly announcing 'Je peux les acheter maintenant' (which I worked out whilst queuing). She (of course) then needed to launch into a rant about how bizarre it was that I could take cash out, and weren't all banks full of criminals (I think her fondness for chatting was the reasoning behind the queue)?

All men are equal before fish

After a lot of nodding, smiling and 'oui'ing, I escaped and went back to cook. Of course, having bought the cheap crevettes, I had to peel them. Seriously. I discovered this after defrosting them, so I proceeded to peel wet, raw prawns whilst making pasta. They were pretty amazing prawns though - total bargain.

I then had a magnum... and after eating half I felt sick. C'est le vie!

Luckily, the boyfriend brought me a nice collection of Bri'ish food which will last me a while... once I work out a meal made from Heinz Baked Beans, Heinz Ketchup, Birds Custard Powder and Cadbury's Dairy Milk!

Bikini Ready

Anyway, the main point of this post is that I can now fit into my UK size 6 (US size 2) black skinny jeans. I have 2 weeks until I go on holiday, so let's hope the Brussels Bikini Diet can continue to work its magic on me!

Non, je ne regrette rien

The word that is heard perishes, but the letter that is written remains

Post (if it's the right sort of post) is always exciting. When you're a child, all post addressed to you is obviously something amazing, because you don't get bills, junk mail or appointment notifications, and when you get older, anything handwritten is usually exciting, because it means someone's actually taken the time to remember how to use a pen!

Living abroad seems to make people put pen to paper, to prove that they care about you. I love it. I miss letters, and if it takes moving abroad for people to write letters, then it's a sad day for all of us. 

However, every single bit of post makes my day - I love reading, and letters are one of the nicest things to read, because they're personal and bizarre. It's very rare that people plan out a letter; mostly (or maybe that's just me), I start to write, and I end up waffling on about really random stuff (just like this blog).

Anyway, I really appreciate the cards, emails, parcels and post cards from everyone, and a special mention to my 'sister-in-law' and godmother for the Cadbury's and home-made goodies.

Mais soudain je pousse un cri parmi les rires

As my French improves, I start to notice certain elements of English which don't cross language barriers. I almost feel mean when people say things in English which to me means something completely different.

My colleague asked me what my plans were this weekend...Me: Well my boyfriend's coming tomorrow, so we'll probably go to the Atomium on Saturday

Colleague: You like looking at big hanging balls?Me: Err...Lapland and Pole DancingIn England we all moan about public transport, but in Brussels it's something else altogether.I take the Metro to work, and every day one of the escalators (always an up escalator) is broken. There's something very depressing about climbing up a broken escalator, because halfway up you realise how unfit you are, but you have to keep going!Of course, you have to survive the journey itself before you can even contemplate leaving the station. The drivers seem to enjoy harsh (normally random) braking. A woman actually landed in my lap the other day. The train screeched to a halt, and she toppled onto the seat and slid into my lap. Charming!The same is true of the bus - sitting or standing, if you're not holding on tight enough, you'll end up on the floor, or doing attractive pirouettes around the pole. My advice is this: if you can, use your legs, it's safer and - most of the time - quicker! My journey takes 40ish minutes which is walking - metro - metro - walking. If I walked the whole way, Google Maps estimates 52 minutes, which means it would take a normal human about 45.And another thing...

Most importantly, I get to see my boyfriend this weekend, and best of all, he is bringing a suitcase full of toiletries and sundries from Merry Old England! Good ol' Blighty :)

Talon Free & All Cried Out

For someone who doesn't really like tea, I've been craving it a lot recently. Especially now when I'm sitting with a cryptic crossword and a piece of home-made cinnabon. I was going to be entirely British and watch an episode of Pride & Prejudice, but I spend all day staring at a screen so a crossword seemed like a good option to exercise my brain.



Well, I made it a week (just about), and have only got to wait 9 more days until my emergency supplies are brought out to me. I can definitely cope another week or so days without squash, mouthwash and Options hot chocolate. As for Cadbury's well that's debatable - I bought some 'chocolat blanc avec pâté de Speculoos' and it leaves a lot to be desired!


However, I did (after several days of contemplating), buy some nail clippers. I hadn't cut my nails in possibly 3 weeks, and they were disgusting! I mean at least 1cm... so I feel much better now. Who knows, I may even shave my legs on Saturday, as it's been almost 2 weeks! How revolting. My excuse is that it's so damn cold in my office, I need the extra warmth. But I must admit, I have let my standards slip - I haven't even worn make-up this week, and need to pluck my eyebrows. 
I don't want to end up like this:
 


People don't seem to wear make-up in Brussels - there's no stigma attached to not trying. I like it, because I can get up in the morning (I do shower and wash my hair - I haven't quite lost the plot), and chuck on jeans and a T-shirt without feeling like I'll be judged. Maybe it's their culture, why waste time on grooming, when there are far more important things to do. 


Like shopping. I popped into the supermarket on my way to work because I was fed up with drinking coffee with 'coffeemate', it's just wrong! However, the entire Roodebeek community seemed to be doing their weekly shop at 8.45am. And only one checkout was open. Naturally. However the nice lady in front of me pointed out that I could use the express till. Result. Then I messed up barcode scanning and threw my milk on the floor. Nice man came to my rescue. I am the Eeenglish Peeg.


People are nice here - several times people have told me to go in front of them in the supermarket because I've only got a few items. I appreciate that. In England you're more likely to get pushed in front of.


I have cried a bit this week (much to my disgust), but mainly because I was uprooted from the place I was getting used to, and put somewhere else. It's nice enough, although I'm terrified of sleeping in a bunk bed... it's 6 feet off the ground, and there's no way of turning the lights on or off when you're in, meaning it's an obstacle course. I will bump my head on the ceiling, and I will stub my toe on the ladder. I've accepted that. Hopefully I won't fall out, or fall down the ladder. Although then I could come home, and get paid 'incapacity benefit'... 


Seems a popular idea - apparently a girl started at work the week before I did, and went home at lunchtime feeling ill. She then didn't return because she was pregnant. I think she made that up, because I'd thought that would be the perfect excuse to leave. Sneaky sneaky.


I'm fairly sure I'll be here until Christmas, but I can't say after that!l All I need is some British food (that's what will bring back the stiff upper lip), a hug, and a fleece!
 
Still not convinced, but who knows...