A COLLECTIVE COUGH

I'm feeling a bit delicate this morning, after a stonking Friday night in the pub with a bunch of people who looked vaguely familiar. The house band Take This, despite being older than the Rolling Stones, were on great form and got the whole pub on their feet. I seem to remember dancing on a chair at some point singing "500 Miles", and surely I imagined a long involved conversation (although God knows how, you couldn't hear yourself think) with a Tory MP? I don't know which one, but I don't think it was Boris Johnson. Worst of all, I think I was drinking PINTS OF LAGER. Oh, the shame.

To soothe my thumping hangover, I'm listening to a bit of opera. Click on the pink bar, top left (a new feature! Thanks to MKWM for the idea). In memory of the late, VERY great (in every sense of the word) Luciano Pavarotti, who is being buried today in Modena (pity the poor pallbearers!) I give you Nessun Dorma. If you lived over the pub where the band where playing until 2.00 a.m. last night, you'd know how true that is.

A very Belgian protest has begun in the next street. Three months after the elections, there is still no Federal government. The three autonomous regions function perfectly well on a day-to-day level - hospitals, schools, emergency services all still work normally, and the various civil services keep the country ticking over. In fact, you start to wonder if they even need a Federal government. (That, perhaps, is the point). But certain things have to be dealt with at Federal level. At the moment Belgium has no foreign policy. No change there, then, you might say. But what about Defence? Without a coherent defence policy the country is laid wide open to any Tom, Dirk or Henri who might spot a breach in the dyke, so to speak. What if the wily French tried to invade Flanders? Arriving in droves on bicycles with onions around their necks, flooding the country with fabulous food and excellent wine, and speaking their shoulder-shrugging nasal whine with added hand movements? Unthinkable. Or - even worse - if the Dutch tried to take over Wallonia? Hidden inside caravans, speaking perfect English, handing out spliffs ... simply dreadful. I don't think we've got much to fear from the Germans this time around, but it's a worrying situation. The good Belgian burghers in my part of town have devised a robust method of protest against this appalling situation. They are hanging the national flag out of their windows. To remind their compatriots that they should think of themselves as Belgian first, and Walloon or Flamand second. Fat chance. Bear in mind that my leafy suburb is a bit like Cheam. This is the middle-class Belgian's equivalent of burning cars. It's like a big collective "AHEM!" That should bring them to their senses.