When I first came to Belgium I was introduced to the cat, Gamin. I say introduced, it was more like briefly glimpsing the elusive and cautious creature, who at that time lived in the garage of my future father-in-law. Grumpy, evil and dangerous only begin to describe the character of this cat and I, having grown up surrounded by a multitude of cats with their respective characters, thought that he would not prove to be too much of a challenge to win over.
Gamin would spend his time usually outside or in the garage. He was always brought in at night and often slept on top of the hot water boiler, for obvious reasons really. When he was upstairs he spent his time hiding behind curtains or chairs and sometime joining my father-in-law when he went to the toilet, he is a bit odd that way (the cat not my father-in-law). He was regarded as being an indoor cat and had his litter tray provided. Unfortunately he has suffered from stones in his bladder and due to them being quite painful he had a stretched bladder with a very pink and raw tummy where he had been constantly licking. In all his life was not bad but not quite comfortable, especially when taking into account the obsessive and disturbing cleaning routine of An, distressing and disturbing for the cat and others living in the house, not for An!
In 2007 or thereabouts, Gamin moved house and came to live with us here. I fitted a cat flap and it became apparent that in fact he is very much a night stalker and would often wander off, even at his age. Naturally this concerned An who was not used to this behaviour from cats, but I was used to it. He would come back with the odd scratch, having won or lost the argument over territory. We had it on good authority that he was a bit of a terrorist with the neighbour's cats. Initially I fitted a regular cat flap but then An noticed that we had an intruder and so I had to fit a magnetic one instead, training the cat to use this took a bit of effort but then he got the idea eventually. In fact he is still a bit of a sod and waits for us to open the door when we happen to be around, like loyal owners we do!
The effect of the intruder was to upset the cat and cause a resurgence of his bladder issue. In fact this got quite critical and I thought we were going to lose him. It turns out that there were stones in his bladder and these had either not been noticed or removed on the previous occasions when he had experienced difficulty. The Vet advised, and both An and my father-in-law had followed it, that the cat should be given very expensive and special diet food. This was meant to help with the stones issue. Now I have grown up around cats all my life and we had never fed them any special food nor had we noticed any problems with this. There were plenty of others but no bladder stones that I was aware of. After much persuasion I convinced An that we should put him onto normal wet food, which he loves, funnily enough. This was after he had a major and rather traumatic operation to have the stones removed. This must be around 2 years ago and now his fur has grown back and he has not had any further issues. Scroll on to the most recent visit to the vet...
A journey to the vet, for Gamin, is no pleasure trip. His yellow box signifies the impending unpleasant experience that awaits him. He runs away but then does not really put up much of a fight when we get him into the box. On this occasion and unusually, he peed in the box, which was handy as the vet did not have to obtain a sample the hard way! Anyway, we got there and the vet took a while before seeing us, which gave the cat enough time to begin his aggressive 'keep away from me' growling. I could not find my leather gloves, which was a bit of a shame as he lashes out when he is examined and I fully expected this to happen again. He was given his usual injection, under protest and he even managed to put up with the stethoscope on the ribs. Not for long though. The vet took a swipe to the arm, which left two parallel red marks. Ok enough. He went back in his box and then we started to get the line about the special diet food. Now I don't mind when people give you sound and well founded advice but the evidence presented proved beyond doubt that the food was not causing any problems with stones. The stubbornness of the vet was beyond belief. The, expensive, urine tests showed no abnormalities at all and we had been feeding him for some time on whiskas. The whole bill, including worming and flea treatments was 98 euros, I can't help but feel seen off. I do not recall having to do annual check ups for our cats, just the boosters when they were young, but then things may have changed.
I should add that now, if fact not long after he moved in with us, he became a lot more friendly. In fact he even comes to sit with us when we get home from work and very rarely, he actually gets on your lap. There has to be a special blanket though. But now he purrs a lot more, he nuzzles me, most annoyingly when I am trying to read. He also is a lot more vocal than he used to be and he often lets us know when he wants attention. He is a lot happier than when he was living at the old house, although An still insists on putting him to bed in the garage, which he is used to. He does not use the litter tray anymore as he has a nice garden to use...
An and I were discussing the fact that at some point he will join the other cats in the next life. Unfortunately An made a slip of the tongue and said 'kid' instead of 'kitten' heaven, at which point I imagined kids screaming and shouting, pulling his ears, tail and chasing him about... Utter chaos, I cannot imagine he would like that somehow. In fact kitten heaven would not be much better judging by the look of disgust he gave a visiting kitten one day. He is a grumpy old man who barely tolerates the presence of another cat, but he would give way eventually after he has established who is boss. To make matters worse An corrected herself and said he would like it in pussy heaven, at which point my tea sprayed across the room as my mind took a short trip to that idyllic location.
I did have a visit from a work colleague with his wife, they brought their dog too. I did warn them that the cat usually runs off when visitors come and that when he sees the dog he will nip away as well. How wrong was I? Brave boy, he sat there almost daring the dog to make a move as he hissed and growled at the poor thing. It was the equivalent to a standoff, although clearly the dog felt a lot more intimidated and scared than the cat and refused to look Gamin in the eye. He did not back down or give up his place, only withdrawing to the garage once the dog had left the house. I was surprised and a little proud too.
Saturday, 1 March 2014
Thursday, 20 February 2014
Ok, The Zip.
There is a saying where I come from, if you have forgotten to zip up your trousers you say to someone "you have egg on your chin". It is a slightly more discrete way of saying that your flies are undone, we do try to be diplomatic.
Occasionally life throws up the odd embarrassing challenge and this happened to me one morning just after I had arrived at work. It was around 7am and there were only a few people in at that time. As is my want, I chose to empty my bladder, it was on completion of this that the problem arose. I must add quickly that this was not a re-run of There's Something About Mary. There were no bloody moments or TV cameras with appearances on national TV. No, as I drew my zip up it failed, leaving me with a bit of a snag, although not literally a snag, thank God. There was no chance of repair or even being partially closed, I was swaying in the wind so to speak. The saving grace was that I prefer close fitting underwear, in fact I wear underwear, which is always a bonus! The cargo was therefore reasonably safe and not in danger of popping out to say hi.
Now luckily enough, where I work we have a clothing store which is usually stocked with a wide range of uniform clothing, including black trousers. I duly and rather cautiously crossed the grass to the other building that housed the clothing store and gabbed the storeman. I had to wait until they were open, which was not too long. It is rather handy having such a facility at the workplace. Anyway, things started to go downhill, basically they did not have my size. I had a choice between supermodel thin, which would have lasted about 30 seconds or mega huge, which would have made me look like Coco the clown, if only he had a red nose to give me as well.
Helpfully he said that he could order some in, it would take a couple of weeks. Now, I appreciate the timescales but that kind of doesn't work for me. I told him that I had a spare set in the house only 2 1/2 hours away. His next line took me aback, he said the tailor next door could probably fix the zip in a couple of days... I decided that given the choice between the extra ventilation and having no trousers at all would prove too much of a distraction for my team. I declined the offer but then thought that I may be able to get a safety pin, which I did.
Now my job is very serious, I deal with quite important and life changing issues everyday and although I am quite laid back there is a degree of credibility and dignity required. I tackled it the only way I could, each time I had a face to face chat I just came out with it, that is I stated clearly that my dignity was slightly compromised. Naturally the first thing that people do when you say this is they look at your crotch... Well now that the ice was broken we could get on with the business at hand. I don't think I would get away with it if it was the other way around, the polite thing is to pretend to ignore it.
I do a lot of face to face work and I get around the organisation quite a bit, it is the best way of keeping abreast of things and doing business. Sometimes I would forget to point out my clothing defect. It is quite obvious when someone has noticed but does not quite feel they are able to mention it. You can play at this stage, you know, doing a Sharon Stone or sitting like a typical male with legs spread as wide as possible. I am a bit too considerate to torture people like this, so more often than not I confirmed their suspicion and made sure they were not traumatized.
Thinking about it now, it reminds me of the times at school when a hole would open up right under the crotch, where the seam would just split. As we used to sit cross legged a lot as kids this could be quite embarrassing too. Now it tends to be laces snapping at the most inconvenient time, although not so much of a compromising situation.
As most people within the organisation were aware of my clothing deficiency I felt it necessary to instruct one of my team to raise it as a point at the Executive meeting in my absence the following day.
And that was how it began with the zip!
Occasionally life throws up the odd embarrassing challenge and this happened to me one morning just after I had arrived at work. It was around 7am and there were only a few people in at that time. As is my want, I chose to empty my bladder, it was on completion of this that the problem arose. I must add quickly that this was not a re-run of There's Something About Mary. There were no bloody moments or TV cameras with appearances on national TV. No, as I drew my zip up it failed, leaving me with a bit of a snag, although not literally a snag, thank God. There was no chance of repair or even being partially closed, I was swaying in the wind so to speak. The saving grace was that I prefer close fitting underwear, in fact I wear underwear, which is always a bonus! The cargo was therefore reasonably safe and not in danger of popping out to say hi.
Now luckily enough, where I work we have a clothing store which is usually stocked with a wide range of uniform clothing, including black trousers. I duly and rather cautiously crossed the grass to the other building that housed the clothing store and gabbed the storeman. I had to wait until they were open, which was not too long. It is rather handy having such a facility at the workplace. Anyway, things started to go downhill, basically they did not have my size. I had a choice between supermodel thin, which would have lasted about 30 seconds or mega huge, which would have made me look like Coco the clown, if only he had a red nose to give me as well.
Helpfully he said that he could order some in, it would take a couple of weeks. Now, I appreciate the timescales but that kind of doesn't work for me. I told him that I had a spare set in the house only 2 1/2 hours away. His next line took me aback, he said the tailor next door could probably fix the zip in a couple of days... I decided that given the choice between the extra ventilation and having no trousers at all would prove too much of a distraction for my team. I declined the offer but then thought that I may be able to get a safety pin, which I did.
Now my job is very serious, I deal with quite important and life changing issues everyday and although I am quite laid back there is a degree of credibility and dignity required. I tackled it the only way I could, each time I had a face to face chat I just came out with it, that is I stated clearly that my dignity was slightly compromised. Naturally the first thing that people do when you say this is they look at your crotch... Well now that the ice was broken we could get on with the business at hand. I don't think I would get away with it if it was the other way around, the polite thing is to pretend to ignore it.
I do a lot of face to face work and I get around the organisation quite a bit, it is the best way of keeping abreast of things and doing business. Sometimes I would forget to point out my clothing defect. It is quite obvious when someone has noticed but does not quite feel they are able to mention it. You can play at this stage, you know, doing a Sharon Stone or sitting like a typical male with legs spread as wide as possible. I am a bit too considerate to torture people like this, so more often than not I confirmed their suspicion and made sure they were not traumatized.
Thinking about it now, it reminds me of the times at school when a hole would open up right under the crotch, where the seam would just split. As we used to sit cross legged a lot as kids this could be quite embarrassing too. Now it tends to be laces snapping at the most inconvenient time, although not so much of a compromising situation.
As most people within the organisation were aware of my clothing deficiency I felt it necessary to instruct one of my team to raise it as a point at the Executive meeting in my absence the following day.
And that was how it began with the zip!
Tuesday, 18 February 2014
No, Really, It started With My Zip
Every morning when I go to work my alarm goes off at 05.15, this is a bid to avoid the heavy rush hour traffic. I usually get to work around 07.00 and that is a clear 1 1/2 hours before I am supposed to start. This has benefits, primarily it means I can have my breakfast and read my kindle in relative peace before the rest of the team turn up. Sometimes, more often than not I will do some work, although usually I will do some personal development such as learning Dutch or reading. It is a peaceful start to the day, which can be shattered by the odd crisis and someone being in early. Occasionally, if I am really tired, I will have a half hour nap, which is ok whilst it is dark in Winter but in Summer it is a bit of a non-starter as my office has massive windows.
Anyway, when the Marimba alarm sounds, it is time to lean over, hug and kiss the wife and then slip out of bed. As I rise, my body begins to stabilise as gyro control is initiated. Every now and again I have a wobble, depending upon whether I had a decent nights sleep or not. Now I must add that the alarm is as loud as a fire alarm and my hearing being low I make sure it stays loud. An must love this. Sometimes, to my annoyance, I wake up before the alarm goes off, in some cases this is just minutes before, a wasted opportunity to sleep!
Being a former watchkeeper, I value both being silent and keeping the lights out. I am quite considerate in this respect, I go to the sock and underwear drawer and remove a set, whilst my night vision is still good. After that I fold back the rug and close the bedroom door to prevent the flood of light waking An up. At this point I do the usual evolutions; toilet, weigh myself, shave, brush the teeth and shower. My night vision is now shot through and I am quite awake by now.
I pre-iron my shirts on a Sunday and thus it is quick and easy to get dressed and grab my bag, which is normally pre-packed. Today I changed my routine, forgot my trainers and missed out on PT, shame...
Recently, due to the total ban on shoes being upstairs, my routine had to change. Usually I would come back upstairs before departing to give An a hug and a kiss. Now I do this before heading downstairs. A couple of weeks ago I had finished up and switched the lights off in readiness to open the bedroom door, my night vision having gone, I then proceeded to enter the bedroom and fumble my way down An's side of the bed. She was watching me, as her night vision was still well established. She continued to watch as I overshot my target and gently and delicately kissed the headboard. She was wondering what the hell I was doing and I was lucky not to hit my head on the wall. Needless to say I re-orientated and managed to locate the target some 40 cms further back from my initial estimate!
The next most important evolution is to feed the cat, who has been sitting patiently on the other side of the kitchen door, waiting for me to come downstairs. He clearly hears me getting ready and is well established in his routine. Sometimes he is outside and he waits for me to unlock the door, heaven forbid he should use the cat flap! As I put the food in his bowl he makes sure that my uniform trousers have a good few cat hairs to mark the fact that I belong to him. The last thing I do is grab my yogurt, keys, wallet and pass and then head out of the door.
As I leave it is like doing pre-flight checks in the car, depending upon the weather the heating and demisting kicks in and I establish the music for the journey and initiate the navigation. Usually this is a rolling task as I am departing the street.
I promise the next one will start with the zip! You know what it is like when you get going...
Anyway, when the Marimba alarm sounds, it is time to lean over, hug and kiss the wife and then slip out of bed. As I rise, my body begins to stabilise as gyro control is initiated. Every now and again I have a wobble, depending upon whether I had a decent nights sleep or not. Now I must add that the alarm is as loud as a fire alarm and my hearing being low I make sure it stays loud. An must love this. Sometimes, to my annoyance, I wake up before the alarm goes off, in some cases this is just minutes before, a wasted opportunity to sleep!
Being a former watchkeeper, I value both being silent and keeping the lights out. I am quite considerate in this respect, I go to the sock and underwear drawer and remove a set, whilst my night vision is still good. After that I fold back the rug and close the bedroom door to prevent the flood of light waking An up. At this point I do the usual evolutions; toilet, weigh myself, shave, brush the teeth and shower. My night vision is now shot through and I am quite awake by now.
I pre-iron my shirts on a Sunday and thus it is quick and easy to get dressed and grab my bag, which is normally pre-packed. Today I changed my routine, forgot my trainers and missed out on PT, shame...
Recently, due to the total ban on shoes being upstairs, my routine had to change. Usually I would come back upstairs before departing to give An a hug and a kiss. Now I do this before heading downstairs. A couple of weeks ago I had finished up and switched the lights off in readiness to open the bedroom door, my night vision having gone, I then proceeded to enter the bedroom and fumble my way down An's side of the bed. She was watching me, as her night vision was still well established. She continued to watch as I overshot my target and gently and delicately kissed the headboard. She was wondering what the hell I was doing and I was lucky not to hit my head on the wall. Needless to say I re-orientated and managed to locate the target some 40 cms further back from my initial estimate!
The next most important evolution is to feed the cat, who has been sitting patiently on the other side of the kitchen door, waiting for me to come downstairs. He clearly hears me getting ready and is well established in his routine. Sometimes he is outside and he waits for me to unlock the door, heaven forbid he should use the cat flap! As I put the food in his bowl he makes sure that my uniform trousers have a good few cat hairs to mark the fact that I belong to him. The last thing I do is grab my yogurt, keys, wallet and pass and then head out of the door.
As I leave it is like doing pre-flight checks in the car, depending upon the weather the heating and demisting kicks in and I establish the music for the journey and initiate the navigation. Usually this is a rolling task as I am departing the street.
I promise the next one will start with the zip! You know what it is like when you get going...
Tuesday, 11 February 2014
It Started With My Zip
Sometimes I can barely remember what I did last week and the weekend of the 2/3Feb was one of those. I read recently that the brain requires a certain amount of sleep each night in order to transfer memories from the short to the long term store, otherwise they are lost. I am not sure how true that is but I can vouch for being more forgetful than most when failing to get a good nights sleep. My regime during the week is to go Monday to Thursday departing from home at around 05:45 and getting back at 19.00, although these last few weeks work has been even more demanding than usual. I normally work from home on Friday but not recently, the result is a general lack of sleep which cannot be good.
On the 31 Jan my wife and I decided that I would drop by Ikea and pick up a body form mattress topper, this is not a great description as it sounds like a sanitary towel for a 60 foot menstruating woman... Anyway, whilst there I was meant to pick up a couple of toilet brushes and a couple of winter duvets. You would not believe the difference it makes but of course it would not be a straightforward trip. Needless to say we guessed the size of our bed and duvet covers and therein lay the first problem.
As I was going to use the Ikea near Sterrebeek I was keen to get in and out before the inevitable rush hour traffic set in and the place was choking with mad people trying to get home. I naturally got straight in and decided to pretend I was a salmon and go up river against the flow of the traffic. Like most, I would imagine, I don't like the way they get you to follow the set route and never have a straight path through all the displays. I mean I just needed an express route, I did not want to joust with pushchairs or follow wandering nomads as they walked in their zombie like state looking for inspiration, I was a man with a mission and I had done my research too (on the UK site, which would prove to be a slight inconvenience).
I found the bedding department and after waiting for another customer to discuss the physics of mattresses with the assistant and shift, I then quickly checked the mattress toppers out and discovered and noted the required details for our 200 x 160 product. I then shifted target to the duvets.
Now we have had somewhat thin and feeble duvets for some time now and have never really taken the opportunity to change them, but after reminiscing about the cuddly and warm feeling of previous ownership, I managed to persuade An of the requirement to experience a more comfortable duvet. Now the UK have a TOG rating, which I believe runs from about 5 to 16 or so, the higher it is the heavier and warmer the duvet. I was kind of hoping that this was an international standard but no, the system in Belgium (and it may not be purely Belgian) was a number between 1 and 6, again the bigger the number the heavier. I think this is a case of kilometres and miles but I am not sure. SO I selected a nice heavy duvet and guessed that the size would be ok, we have two single duvet and in fact there was only 1 size so no real problem there.
Having done my research I then started zombie dodging my way to the warehouse, gabbing a couple of toilet brushes on the way (not as weapons you understand). I found the mattress and decided to go through the self-scan, quick eh? No, not when you have people with the technological dexterity of a blind elephant who has a leg in a caste. It seemed to take such a painfully long time for them to work out how to operate the equipment and scan their goods, there was an older couple, a heard of 25 somethings and someone who just couldn't care less. I took maybe a minute if that to scan, pay and move.
I already knew that the mattress topper would not fit in the boot of my rather nice car, the one I had decided was not going to be used to transport cargo, the one I had deliberately chosen not to have folding rear seats. Anyway, I had to get the mattress across the back seats of the car and, funny old thing, it was too big. To be honest it took just a small adjustment of moving the passenger seat forward and hey presto I only had to magic it in between the parked cars. Once I had squeezed my giant tampon into the car I got underway. I would be just the right person if I encountered a fuel spill or a small flood. I actually made pretty good time and was home about half an hour later.
As soon as I was home I unloaded the car, without being smacked in the face by the large tampon, it was spring loaded in the car. I decided that it would be best to measure the bed and duvet covers before risking unwrapping the stuff, just as well. This was when I discovered that the bed was in fact 200 x 140, I could have gone for the sanitary towel for the slightly smaller menstruating woman and avoided being smacked in the face as I got it out of the car. Cue another trip to Ikea the following day. The duvets were not a problem and lets face it you can't go wrong with toilet brushes...
On the Sat we hit Ikea before the bulk of the zombies turned up and returned the extra large tampon and were given instructions on where to find the slightly smaller (and cheaper one). We were given a plastic 'gift card' as they don't do refunds. Inconvenient but not a problem. We went to the aisle as directed and, WITHOUT CHECKING, picked the product off the shelf. We did check the size and take it from the location as described. We whipped it though checkout and noted that the price was considerably lower, we realised the error and then had to go back to returns, where they issued us with yet another plastic card. They could not just simply credit the existing one, too easy. To add insult to injury they then said WE should check before going through. The correct product was in a completely different location so it was an easy mistake for THEM to make!
Anyway we now have a very warm and comfortable bed, it was not bad to start with but now it is positively luxury.
The bit about the zip comes later, that was the start of a hectic week at work and the mini-dramas that unfolded, but more of that next time.
On the 31 Jan my wife and I decided that I would drop by Ikea and pick up a body form mattress topper, this is not a great description as it sounds like a sanitary towel for a 60 foot menstruating woman... Anyway, whilst there I was meant to pick up a couple of toilet brushes and a couple of winter duvets. You would not believe the difference it makes but of course it would not be a straightforward trip. Needless to say we guessed the size of our bed and duvet covers and therein lay the first problem.
As I was going to use the Ikea near Sterrebeek I was keen to get in and out before the inevitable rush hour traffic set in and the place was choking with mad people trying to get home. I naturally got straight in and decided to pretend I was a salmon and go up river against the flow of the traffic. Like most, I would imagine, I don't like the way they get you to follow the set route and never have a straight path through all the displays. I mean I just needed an express route, I did not want to joust with pushchairs or follow wandering nomads as they walked in their zombie like state looking for inspiration, I was a man with a mission and I had done my research too (on the UK site, which would prove to be a slight inconvenience).
I found the bedding department and after waiting for another customer to discuss the physics of mattresses with the assistant and shift, I then quickly checked the mattress toppers out and discovered and noted the required details for our 200 x 160 product. I then shifted target to the duvets.
Now we have had somewhat thin and feeble duvets for some time now and have never really taken the opportunity to change them, but after reminiscing about the cuddly and warm feeling of previous ownership, I managed to persuade An of the requirement to experience a more comfortable duvet. Now the UK have a TOG rating, which I believe runs from about 5 to 16 or so, the higher it is the heavier and warmer the duvet. I was kind of hoping that this was an international standard but no, the system in Belgium (and it may not be purely Belgian) was a number between 1 and 6, again the bigger the number the heavier. I think this is a case of kilometres and miles but I am not sure. SO I selected a nice heavy duvet and guessed that the size would be ok, we have two single duvet and in fact there was only 1 size so no real problem there.
Having done my research I then started zombie dodging my way to the warehouse, gabbing a couple of toilet brushes on the way (not as weapons you understand). I found the mattress and decided to go through the self-scan, quick eh? No, not when you have people with the technological dexterity of a blind elephant who has a leg in a caste. It seemed to take such a painfully long time for them to work out how to operate the equipment and scan their goods, there was an older couple, a heard of 25 somethings and someone who just couldn't care less. I took maybe a minute if that to scan, pay and move.
I already knew that the mattress topper would not fit in the boot of my rather nice car, the one I had decided was not going to be used to transport cargo, the one I had deliberately chosen not to have folding rear seats. Anyway, I had to get the mattress across the back seats of the car and, funny old thing, it was too big. To be honest it took just a small adjustment of moving the passenger seat forward and hey presto I only had to magic it in between the parked cars. Once I had squeezed my giant tampon into the car I got underway. I would be just the right person if I encountered a fuel spill or a small flood. I actually made pretty good time and was home about half an hour later.
As soon as I was home I unloaded the car, without being smacked in the face by the large tampon, it was spring loaded in the car. I decided that it would be best to measure the bed and duvet covers before risking unwrapping the stuff, just as well. This was when I discovered that the bed was in fact 200 x 140, I could have gone for the sanitary towel for the slightly smaller menstruating woman and avoided being smacked in the face as I got it out of the car. Cue another trip to Ikea the following day. The duvets were not a problem and lets face it you can't go wrong with toilet brushes...
On the Sat we hit Ikea before the bulk of the zombies turned up and returned the extra large tampon and were given instructions on where to find the slightly smaller (and cheaper one). We were given a plastic 'gift card' as they don't do refunds. Inconvenient but not a problem. We went to the aisle as directed and, WITHOUT CHECKING, picked the product off the shelf. We did check the size and take it from the location as described. We whipped it though checkout and noted that the price was considerably lower, we realised the error and then had to go back to returns, where they issued us with yet another plastic card. They could not just simply credit the existing one, too easy. To add insult to injury they then said WE should check before going through. The correct product was in a completely different location so it was an easy mistake for THEM to make!
Anyway we now have a very warm and comfortable bed, it was not bad to start with but now it is positively luxury.
The bit about the zip comes later, that was the start of a hectic week at work and the mini-dramas that unfolded, but more of that next time.
Saturday, 4 January 2014
Christmas In Belgium
I have often been asked what its like in Belgium at Christmas time and the truth be told after 8 years I am still non the wiser. They do celebrate on the 5/6th December with Sinterklaas which is something I have never been around for, but then it is for the kids really.
The real Christmas for us starts with the ordering of the food. My wife and I plan the menu, although she leads of course. I am consulted only to make me feel like I have been involved in the decision making process, a bit like choosing furniture or how the living room should look... In a way it is quite fair as she does the vast majority of the preparation of the food, I am basically a skivvy that moves things around and runs errands. It is a busy time, what with all of the social events as well as organising our own party. The family come down from Antwerp, the UK and round the corner too, it is a great day of fun, eating, drinking and generally being merry with the occasional stressful moments thrown in, nothing unusual there then!
The food we have is a kind of hybrid of UK and Belgian, so much so that, apart from the obvious differences, it is sometimes hard to explain. I suppose the first time we had our party was the most stark, there were that many side dishes that we practically ran out of space. It was interesting watching the Belgian side of the family sticking to their familiar dishes and the UK side sticking to theirs, so much for integration! As an example the Belgian tradition includes warm pear halves with freshly made cranberry sauce, steamed chicory, boiled red cabbage with bay leaves, croquettes and green beans with bacon wrapped around. Some of the evil vegetables such as Brussels sprouts are common to both. But things such as pigs in blankets, roast potatoes, roast parsnips, sage stuffing and Yorkshire puddings are a definite UK contribution. I, lacking in style and taste, prefer cranberry sauce from a jar than the rather rich home made stuff that my wife makes. What made my day one Christmas was that my youngest niece choose the jar over the home made stuff.
For the meat we have had, turkey, duck and pheasant. To the surprise of the wife my mother said the best way to cook the turkey was very slowly, overnight at low temperature. That way it stays moist and is a rather nice aroma to wake up to in the morning. Buying pork is a bit of a snag as the thought of having crackling is somewhat repulsive to most Belgians and when you think about it eating the fatty roasted skin of a pig you can understand why! There is a local butcher who knows what to do when you want a proper bit of roast pork with apple sauce.
The meal itself, for us at least, is spread over the whole day from around 13.00 onwards. There are nibbles, soup, main, Belgian Christmas cake, Christmas pudding, Brit Christmas cake, cheese with bread and crackers, coffee and sweets throughout. It is more like grazing and the alcohol begins with champagne and then diverges off into red wine, beer and other various soft drinks and shorts. I think I have mentioned the heart attack Christmas cake before, it is a different kind of heart attack to the heavy UK fruit cake with icing and marzipan. The Belgian version is lots of cream, sponge and bits of fruit too. Some dare to take the UK Christmas pudding, which is so heavy that it will send you off for a nap if you are not careful. Crackers (the edible kind) are a UK contribution to the cheese round. Normally for the Belgians you have bread, which includes nut, raisin and sugar bread. Crackers have taken off here as readily as the properly made cup of tea! One of my favourites is the nut bread, but by this stage I am struggling to find the room for it. I didn't mention it before but we have formed a tradition by which An makes chicken liver pate every year, it is divine.
Also introduced to the Belgian table were crackers (the pulling variety), party poppers and rocket balloons, oh the fun and mess of those. The cat is non too keen on these noisy party pieces though, he is normally in a self imposed exile in the garage from quite early on, even when tempted by the aroma of turkey.
So the run up is getting all of this together and it is becoming quite a well organised affair. We order our cheese from a delicatessen in Leuven and I pick it up on Christmas Eve on my rounds. The shop is near the fish market in Leuven, in which it is notoriously difficult to find a parking space. This year I made the fatal mistake of failing to choose between the car park at the station, where there would definitely have been a space and the fish market where there was unlikely to be a space. I opted for perhaps the most tight of all multi storey car parks in the world and took on the challenge of getting my car into it. The car park was designed to house smart cars and mine is about three times longer and twice as wide. The hardest part was that of getting through the barrier, where the company had helpfully placed an additional steel shaped edge, presumably to protect the wall and not the cars going in, the effect was to narrow the gap. It felt like navigating a supertanker in the Suez Canal but with a lot less space on either side of the car... I was happy to see that I had to go to level 4 before managing to find a space big enough to accommodate the car.
The trip usually includes a visit to the local butcher or whoever is supplying the meat and a trip to the supermarket to pick up the pre-ordered food. An normally pre-orders the food so that we just have to collect, the thought of jousting with fellow shoppers just doesn't appeal.
Sometime before then I do a run to the UK to pick up the essential Brit stuff, including boxes of Quality Street, crackers (both kinds), puddings, jam and a host of other things. A trip to the brewery and on Christmas day itself I am dispatched to the bakers to collect the cake and other baked goods.
In reality things are not a lot different between UK and Belgium, I suppose each family has its own special way of doing things.
The real Christmas for us starts with the ordering of the food. My wife and I plan the menu, although she leads of course. I am consulted only to make me feel like I have been involved in the decision making process, a bit like choosing furniture or how the living room should look... In a way it is quite fair as she does the vast majority of the preparation of the food, I am basically a skivvy that moves things around and runs errands. It is a busy time, what with all of the social events as well as organising our own party. The family come down from Antwerp, the UK and round the corner too, it is a great day of fun, eating, drinking and generally being merry with the occasional stressful moments thrown in, nothing unusual there then!
The food we have is a kind of hybrid of UK and Belgian, so much so that, apart from the obvious differences, it is sometimes hard to explain. I suppose the first time we had our party was the most stark, there were that many side dishes that we practically ran out of space. It was interesting watching the Belgian side of the family sticking to their familiar dishes and the UK side sticking to theirs, so much for integration! As an example the Belgian tradition includes warm pear halves with freshly made cranberry sauce, steamed chicory, boiled red cabbage with bay leaves, croquettes and green beans with bacon wrapped around. Some of the evil vegetables such as Brussels sprouts are common to both. But things such as pigs in blankets, roast potatoes, roast parsnips, sage stuffing and Yorkshire puddings are a definite UK contribution. I, lacking in style and taste, prefer cranberry sauce from a jar than the rather rich home made stuff that my wife makes. What made my day one Christmas was that my youngest niece choose the jar over the home made stuff.
For the meat we have had, turkey, duck and pheasant. To the surprise of the wife my mother said the best way to cook the turkey was very slowly, overnight at low temperature. That way it stays moist and is a rather nice aroma to wake up to in the morning. Buying pork is a bit of a snag as the thought of having crackling is somewhat repulsive to most Belgians and when you think about it eating the fatty roasted skin of a pig you can understand why! There is a local butcher who knows what to do when you want a proper bit of roast pork with apple sauce.
The meal itself, for us at least, is spread over the whole day from around 13.00 onwards. There are nibbles, soup, main, Belgian Christmas cake, Christmas pudding, Brit Christmas cake, cheese with bread and crackers, coffee and sweets throughout. It is more like grazing and the alcohol begins with champagne and then diverges off into red wine, beer and other various soft drinks and shorts. I think I have mentioned the heart attack Christmas cake before, it is a different kind of heart attack to the heavy UK fruit cake with icing and marzipan. The Belgian version is lots of cream, sponge and bits of fruit too. Some dare to take the UK Christmas pudding, which is so heavy that it will send you off for a nap if you are not careful. Crackers (the edible kind) are a UK contribution to the cheese round. Normally for the Belgians you have bread, which includes nut, raisin and sugar bread. Crackers have taken off here as readily as the properly made cup of tea! One of my favourites is the nut bread, but by this stage I am struggling to find the room for it. I didn't mention it before but we have formed a tradition by which An makes chicken liver pate every year, it is divine.
Also introduced to the Belgian table were crackers (the pulling variety), party poppers and rocket balloons, oh the fun and mess of those. The cat is non too keen on these noisy party pieces though, he is normally in a self imposed exile in the garage from quite early on, even when tempted by the aroma of turkey.
So the run up is getting all of this together and it is becoming quite a well organised affair. We order our cheese from a delicatessen in Leuven and I pick it up on Christmas Eve on my rounds. The shop is near the fish market in Leuven, in which it is notoriously difficult to find a parking space. This year I made the fatal mistake of failing to choose between the car park at the station, where there would definitely have been a space and the fish market where there was unlikely to be a space. I opted for perhaps the most tight of all multi storey car parks in the world and took on the challenge of getting my car into it. The car park was designed to house smart cars and mine is about three times longer and twice as wide. The hardest part was that of getting through the barrier, where the company had helpfully placed an additional steel shaped edge, presumably to protect the wall and not the cars going in, the effect was to narrow the gap. It felt like navigating a supertanker in the Suez Canal but with a lot less space on either side of the car... I was happy to see that I had to go to level 4 before managing to find a space big enough to accommodate the car.
The trip usually includes a visit to the local butcher or whoever is supplying the meat and a trip to the supermarket to pick up the pre-ordered food. An normally pre-orders the food so that we just have to collect, the thought of jousting with fellow shoppers just doesn't appeal.
Sometime before then I do a run to the UK to pick up the essential Brit stuff, including boxes of Quality Street, crackers (both kinds), puddings, jam and a host of other things. A trip to the brewery and on Christmas day itself I am dispatched to the bakers to collect the cake and other baked goods.
In reality things are not a lot different between UK and Belgium, I suppose each family has its own special way of doing things.
Tuesday, 31 December 2013
Old Year's Evening
In Belgium the 31 December is known as Old Year's Evening as opposed to New Year's Eve. As I write this I am braced for the tide of children and accompanying adults who will begin to call on our house to sing. A tradition here is to go out and sing on Old Year's Evening and be rewarded with sweets, it is a bit like Trick or Treat but without the Halloween costumes.
I don't know whether this is a local thing or a national thing but I am glad it doesn't happen on New Years Day otherwise the reception they get would be less than pleasant.
Anyway the kids are meant to sing a song, apparently the same one and I wish I knew what it meant. The adults accompanying them do so at a safe distance, you have to feel for them having to get up even earlier than their victims to prepare the kids for their frosty outing. One year I had forgotten they were coming and therefore had no sweets ready, we really scraped the barrel that year, they got all of the rejected sweets from Christmas. This year we have bought sweets especially for the occasion, they are candy necklaces, the ones where you can bite halfway through a candy loop and then fire the other half across the room using the elasticated necklace. It can be quite effective at close range!
They have until 12.00 then all bets are off, so far we have not had anyone and it is 08.42. I wonder if being midweek and a working day it has had an impact on the numbers of parents able to escort the kids?
It is a bit odd but I feel I cannot go to the toilet until 12.00! I mean it is not like waiting for a delivery or a tradesman to turn up, I think I should be able to afford missing one or two renditions of the song for the sake of comfort. Sods law as soon as I get to the bog the door bell will go. I was thinking of answering the door in my underpants but then I don't want to scare the neighbours.
The cat is peacefully laid next to me on his special fur rug, he is even snoring. He was harassing me earlier, well seeking attention.
Back in the UK we never did this singing malarkey as a child, we did work. We used to go around clearing snow from paths and getting rewarded for it, sometimes well other times not so well. Child labour, you can't beat it.
I don't know whether this is a local thing or a national thing but I am glad it doesn't happen on New Years Day otherwise the reception they get would be less than pleasant.
Anyway the kids are meant to sing a song, apparently the same one and I wish I knew what it meant. The adults accompanying them do so at a safe distance, you have to feel for them having to get up even earlier than their victims to prepare the kids for their frosty outing. One year I had forgotten they were coming and therefore had no sweets ready, we really scraped the barrel that year, they got all of the rejected sweets from Christmas. This year we have bought sweets especially for the occasion, they are candy necklaces, the ones where you can bite halfway through a candy loop and then fire the other half across the room using the elasticated necklace. It can be quite effective at close range!
They have until 12.00 then all bets are off, so far we have not had anyone and it is 08.42. I wonder if being midweek and a working day it has had an impact on the numbers of parents able to escort the kids?
It is a bit odd but I feel I cannot go to the toilet until 12.00! I mean it is not like waiting for a delivery or a tradesman to turn up, I think I should be able to afford missing one or two renditions of the song for the sake of comfort. Sods law as soon as I get to the bog the door bell will go. I was thinking of answering the door in my underpants but then I don't want to scare the neighbours.
The cat is peacefully laid next to me on his special fur rug, he is even snoring. He was harassing me earlier, well seeking attention.
Back in the UK we never did this singing malarkey as a child, we did work. We used to go around clearing snow from paths and getting rewarded for it, sometimes well other times not so well. Child labour, you can't beat it.
Sunday, 1 December 2013
Wasps! Quick Call The Fire Brigade!
During the Summer we noticed that there seemed to be quite a few wasps around our garden and although they did not pose a problem as such it was a concern. Towards the end of the Summer I noticed that there seemed to be a bit of a swarm above our bedroom window, the nest, it would appear, was between our roof and the insulation in the loft. At the time An and I were lying on the lawn looking up and we decided that the weather would soon bring a frost and that they did not seem to be doing any harm. That was to change.
As the weather got colder the wasps started to find a way into our house, which at first was not so obvious. We would regularly come home from work and find the odd one gazing, longingly out of the window. We eventually found out that they were coming through the light fitting in our bedroom. If you have ever seen The abominable Dr Phibes you can understand my slight concerns with them getting into our room at night. Enough was enough, An called the fire brigade.
In the UK you can call the local council or a pest control company and they will sort out your problem, but here in Belgium it is the fire brigade that sort out wasps. In fact the sister-in-law has called them out no less than 7 times, I think there is a pattern developing here...
Now before you get excited the fire brigade does not turn up en masse, no, they make an appointment and two of them (in our case) turn up with a flat bed truck, a ladder and some chemical spray in a dispenser. The two who showed up in our case were like chalk n' cheese, one had a face only a mother could love and the other, who was about 12, looked like he could have been a stripper part time. I was out when they eventually arrived leaving An to show them to our bedroom! They got right to work and I caught them after they had finished. It was awkward, I mean what do you say to a couple of firemen who walk out of your bedroom as you get home? All innocent I assure you! Anyway they sprayed a few of the wasps and the idea was that they would infect the rest when they went back into the nest and they should all die off in about 4 days. They also assured us that they would not have damaged the insulation or the roof and that they will not return the following year.
Roll on two weeks and we had no less than 20 or so wasps coming though the light fitting in dribs and drabs, in fact after the visit there were about 5 or so on day one. The poison was working but I was not keen that they were potentially falling onto my head as they escaped from Agent Orange.
This morning at around 6am I woke almost instantly to the feeling of something landing on my chest and rolling down my t-shirt. Faster than any Ninja and realising the possibility that a somewhat drowsy wasp was potentially about to attack my tits, I sprang up lifting my top and backing away from the area of the bed near the pillow. Now at this point I was not sure if I was imagining it but it was too late for that, An remained in slumber as I did what any sensible person would do and I switched on the bedside lamp, this was a mistake but then a blessing. The wasp saw the light and, forgive the pun, made a beeline for it! Now the thing had some energy from the warmth of the light as he began to play pinball in the lampshade. An was now rousing from her sleep as I alerted her to our intruder.
The wasp in the meantime was now quite active having had the equivalent of a defibrillator activated against its hairy ass. It flew out of the lampshade and smacked into the wall dropping behind the headboard. An helpfully said 'well, what now?' I was actually relieved as the chances of the wasp getting up of the floor were quite slim judging by the previous victims we had seen. That was not good enough though, we could not let this rest. We started to move the bed but on doing so to our horror we noticed the amount of dust that had gathered there and that the wasp was somewhat overwhelmed by it. Making a mental note to hoover at some point soon, I realised that I would require the arms of an orangutan in order to get to the wasp and kill it. Not having an orangutan handy I had to think of something and quick before he made a bid for freedom. At this point he went for it and got under the skirting board, to the protest and despair of An. It was not to last. I grabbed a towel and by that time he had come back out, presumably not finding the cramped conditions to his liking. I dropped the towel onto him and dragged it to the side of the bed, An then did the deed and killed him. Now we were awake at 6 am on a Sunday morning, bloody marvellous!
I managed, much to the annoyance of An, to get back to sleep. I drempt of being based in a WWII airfield that was being bombed, I had to man my anti-aircraft gun with my crew and I had difficulty finding them in the dark. An did eventually get to sleep and she drempt about giant wasps chewing their way through the brickwork!!!!!!! Make of that what you will.
Anyway just remember if you need to get rid of wasps then call the fire brigade, they cost about 28 euros and will come back out if they don't manage to get them the first time round. So as well as getting rid of the wasps you can get a free show too!
As the weather got colder the wasps started to find a way into our house, which at first was not so obvious. We would regularly come home from work and find the odd one gazing, longingly out of the window. We eventually found out that they were coming through the light fitting in our bedroom. If you have ever seen The abominable Dr Phibes you can understand my slight concerns with them getting into our room at night. Enough was enough, An called the fire brigade.
In the UK you can call the local council or a pest control company and they will sort out your problem, but here in Belgium it is the fire brigade that sort out wasps. In fact the sister-in-law has called them out no less than 7 times, I think there is a pattern developing here...
Now before you get excited the fire brigade does not turn up en masse, no, they make an appointment and two of them (in our case) turn up with a flat bed truck, a ladder and some chemical spray in a dispenser. The two who showed up in our case were like chalk n' cheese, one had a face only a mother could love and the other, who was about 12, looked like he could have been a stripper part time. I was out when they eventually arrived leaving An to show them to our bedroom! They got right to work and I caught them after they had finished. It was awkward, I mean what do you say to a couple of firemen who walk out of your bedroom as you get home? All innocent I assure you! Anyway they sprayed a few of the wasps and the idea was that they would infect the rest when they went back into the nest and they should all die off in about 4 days. They also assured us that they would not have damaged the insulation or the roof and that they will not return the following year.
Roll on two weeks and we had no less than 20 or so wasps coming though the light fitting in dribs and drabs, in fact after the visit there were about 5 or so on day one. The poison was working but I was not keen that they were potentially falling onto my head as they escaped from Agent Orange.
This morning at around 6am I woke almost instantly to the feeling of something landing on my chest and rolling down my t-shirt. Faster than any Ninja and realising the possibility that a somewhat drowsy wasp was potentially about to attack my tits, I sprang up lifting my top and backing away from the area of the bed near the pillow. Now at this point I was not sure if I was imagining it but it was too late for that, An remained in slumber as I did what any sensible person would do and I switched on the bedside lamp, this was a mistake but then a blessing. The wasp saw the light and, forgive the pun, made a beeline for it! Now the thing had some energy from the warmth of the light as he began to play pinball in the lampshade. An was now rousing from her sleep as I alerted her to our intruder.
The wasp in the meantime was now quite active having had the equivalent of a defibrillator activated against its hairy ass. It flew out of the lampshade and smacked into the wall dropping behind the headboard. An helpfully said 'well, what now?' I was actually relieved as the chances of the wasp getting up of the floor were quite slim judging by the previous victims we had seen. That was not good enough though, we could not let this rest. We started to move the bed but on doing so to our horror we noticed the amount of dust that had gathered there and that the wasp was somewhat overwhelmed by it. Making a mental note to hoover at some point soon, I realised that I would require the arms of an orangutan in order to get to the wasp and kill it. Not having an orangutan handy I had to think of something and quick before he made a bid for freedom. At this point he went for it and got under the skirting board, to the protest and despair of An. It was not to last. I grabbed a towel and by that time he had come back out, presumably not finding the cramped conditions to his liking. I dropped the towel onto him and dragged it to the side of the bed, An then did the deed and killed him. Now we were awake at 6 am on a Sunday morning, bloody marvellous!
I managed, much to the annoyance of An, to get back to sleep. I drempt of being based in a WWII airfield that was being bombed, I had to man my anti-aircraft gun with my crew and I had difficulty finding them in the dark. An did eventually get to sleep and she drempt about giant wasps chewing their way through the brickwork!!!!!!! Make of that what you will.
Anyway just remember if you need to get rid of wasps then call the fire brigade, they cost about 28 euros and will come back out if they don't manage to get them the first time round. So as well as getting rid of the wasps you can get a free show too!
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