Some of my fans (oh all right, ONE of my fans) (the other one) has scolded me for not blogging often enough. Goodness, there are just not enough hours in the day. How the mighty have fallen, I
am not the lady of leisure I once was, and a girl has to make ends meet. I have a (oh, this pains me to say the word) -- JOB. I work on the fake jewellery counter in a well known department store. A bit like Mrs Slocombe, but without her pussy. Travelling takes up an inordinate amount of time in Belgium due to the lamentable public transport services and the fact that I live in a green and leafy, but somewhat remote, part of the city. Weekends just fly by, what with buying shoes, reading the Sunday papers and a little light housework once a quarter.
My forte was traditionally restaurant reviews. My previous blog Wayne-Boughs’ World elicited paeons of praise from A.A.Gill and Michael Winner. Jamie Oliver once kissed the hem of my flowery dress. Now I’m a single girl again, ironically I don’t get out much. Millicent Tendency only drops in now and again when she’s in town militating, and we almost always seem to end up in Chez Léon, which you can only review once. Mussels are mussels, when all’s said and done. Bert is a frightful old tightwad and never takes me anywhere except to Commission cocktail parties where the canapés are free. I have been out with a couple of Greek ladies after the belly-dancing class, Tamara Salata and Doll Mades, but frankly what can you say about Greek food? It’s all bits and pieces. So as a result I’m at a loss for a suitable temple of culinary delights to review. Perhaps if there’s a gentleman in the Brussels area with a clean dinner jacket and lots of luncheon vouchers (and it would help if he looks just a little bit like George Clooney) he’d like to help out a damsel in distress and invite me to Comme Chez Soi? I'll pay the taxi.
am not the lady of leisure I once was, and a girl has to make ends meet. I have a (oh, this pains me to say the word) -- JOB. I work on the fake jewellery counter in a well known department store. A bit like Mrs Slocombe, but without her pussy. Travelling takes up an inordinate amount of time in Belgium due to the lamentable public transport services and the fact that I live in a green and leafy, but somewhat remote, part of the city. Weekends just fly by, what with buying shoes, reading the Sunday papers and a little light housework once a quarter.My forte was traditionally restaurant reviews. My previous blog Wayne-Boughs’ World elicited paeons of praise from A.A.Gill and Michael Winner. Jamie Oliver once kissed the hem of my flowery dress. Now I’m a single girl again, ironically I don’t get out much. Millicent Tendency only drops in now and again when she’s in town militating, and we almost always seem to end up in Chez Léon, which you can only review once. Mussels are mussels, when all’s said and done. Bert is a frightful old tightwad and never takes me anywhere except to Commission cocktail parties where the canapés are free. I have been out with a couple of Greek ladies after the belly-dancing class, Tamara Salata and Doll Mades, but frankly what can you say about Greek food? It’s all bits and pieces. So as a result I’m at a loss for a suitable temple of culinary delights to review. Perhaps if there’s a gentleman in the Brussels area with a clean dinner jacket and lots of luncheon vouchers (and it would help if he looks just a little bit like George Clooney) he’d like to help out a damsel in distress and invite me to Comme Chez Soi? I'll pay the taxi.
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