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Waterloo (win the war of the playground)

I went to Waterloo (I was defeated, you won the war) yesterday, and played on a swing. It was without doubt the highlight of my week.

Other waterloo highlights were the fun times at the local supermarket, delicious Waterloo Tripel in distinguished ceramic glass, and finally ending the minutes of tension between the Flemish and Neapolitan armies.

Waterloo Tripel - really tasty!



For reference, the restaurant selection at Brussels airport is so poor that a burger (allegedly intentionally) misshaped into a heart is actually the best option.

Came with a salad and a beer. Nice one Belgium.

Road Trip to Les Menuires

Heading out door now (A), picking sister up in Lyon (B), opening beer in Les Menuires (C). Strapping boots on tomorrow, bruising the next day.

Tot volgende week mensen!


The past week I’ve had my parents visiting all the way from their comfortably warm home, traversing the impossibly cold wintery landscape of Belgium. We’ve been all around this fine land, from Antwerp to Galmaarden and back to Gent, though I swear my mothers highlight was watching the crappy videos I made at the Kenny Rogers concert in London last June.

What made it all the more exciting was the fact that Sir Kenny is playing in Brisbane in no less than 12 weeks. What an amazing discovery.

Today I’m taking the folks to the other other side of Belgium to see the November 11th ceremony at Ieper, the town that basically owns the Last Post. On any other day you can head down to Ieper and pay respect to the terrible days of World War 1 at 8pm, listening to the Last Post played on a bunch of buggles, but today they not only have a buggler brigade by also a bunch of important looking chaps and a million other folk looking very solemn holding wreaths.

In any case, my mother will likely sing the Gambler throughout the procession.

I haven’t posted in nearly a month, so here’s the recap of a month of Work and/or Play.:

  • 2 x trip to Genova
    Work: Teaching chumps how to not-chump
  • 1 x Kenny Rogers Concert
    Play: So so sooo good. He taught us how to not-chump!
  • 1 x half week chillin with Chritch in NYC
    Play: Three days of drinking, eating, and drop jaw stares as simple school buses. They’re just like the movies!
  • 1 x half week of LA
    Work: Presented some shiz to Nestle USA, they seemed delighted. They also have televisions on every floor showing the world cup! Thoroughly recommend a job with Nestle USA. Coffee wasn’t even bad.
  • 1 x Bon Jovi @ O2 Arena
    Play: TERRIBLE SHIT. So bad I even nearly deleted the Ironic Bon Jovi from my collection. Nearly.

Sum of Total: AWESOME, give or take Bon Jovi. What a chump.

This afternoon I went to the local Kringloopwinkel (second hand store) on a mission to buy some Ghent flavoured crap to give a mate in in Berlin, and came back with an amazing swag that cost no more than €2,04.

I couldn’t believe my luck when I discovered that €0,50 can buy a picture of a gypsie stamping a train track. Not entirely Ghentish, but definitely worth the export to Deutschland!

The Ghent Swag

Official Ghent City Hall trophy! Hot crap! Money can't normally buy these! Or can it!

Framed Indiana Jones! 50 cents!

Gympsie stomps on train tracks! Incredible!

Official 1988 Gent Boating Thing! Yes! Official!

Tonight the Belgian weather man predicts 1cm of snow at Koksijde. Residents are asked to drive to Koksijde Bad carefully.

I started this blog with the anticipation of posting my day-by-day discoveries of my new-found hometown  – Gent, Belgium. However since starting the blog in February, I’ve actually only spent *two* full weeks there.

Two. Weeks.

So whilst I have a boat load of Gent based nonsense to write about, the reality of the matter is that I spend nearly every day, night, and weekend in often more interesting cities. Though ironically I spend those days, nights, and weekends, wishing I was back in Gent.


This week: I am in Creully, a delightfully quant French town a few kilometers from the French coast, exactly four hours, thirty six minutes drive from my discussed and unexplored Belgian home.

Creully, through some act of world-war-miracle, managed to stay fairly intact through both world wars, rendering the town significantly more fairy-tale than the majority of cities I have camped up in over the past few years.

The town is home to 1400 people, many of which work at the factory of which I am currently working at, and is specifically famous throughout Normandy as it was not blown up by zee Germans fifty years ago.

I brought to Creully a truck load of work, though also packed my guitar and recording gear with the intention of ignoring said truck load, and writing a few Normandic tunes – this, like my blog, has also been quite neglected.

Instead, I’ve been eating like a crazy man, making the most of the delightful Raclette cheese, an incredibly heavy, melted mess best served with nothing but potatoes. Drink wise, it’s all about Gewürztraminer wine and avoiding Nestlé branded bevredges.

From my dear super-pals I found this chateau for 110 euro a night, where I’ve been living it up in the JUNIOR SUITE of all places, being as la-di-da-formal as I possibly can.  My mastering of the French language has barely passed the “I can not speak French.” status, though I just know that any minute I’ll crack.

With every wheel of Raclette consumed, I believe I am digesting another 20 years of French history (and/or heart disease), so no doubt before the week is through I’ll have changed my name to Jean-Claud and will insist that you stop reading this website in favour of something of the category. is so passé.

I drive back to Gent tomorrow, and then trip out to London on Sunday with Annelies. Then maybe. Just maybe, I’ll be back in Gent for my ever-impossible-to-attend Dutch lesson for Monday.

Ik sprek heel goede Nederlands! See!

Back to Creully. I should post pictures, however the snazzy web 1.9ness of WordPress is making this seamingly simple task a little difficult.



Italians! Everywhere!

This morning the Ghentelady and I are embarking on a glorious 936km road trip to Les Deux Aples, one of but many ski resort towns in the French alps.

Whilst our dear Ghentlelady is without doubt competent with all things ski-related, this will be the first time I have attempted strapping two pieces of wood to my feet in ten years, and even then – it was on the Australian Alps of all places.

I’ll be sure to report back any discrepancies between the two national skiing-treasures, eh.