My flamboyant friend Tarquin de Folle fell off the Eurostar last Saturday in a cloud of feathers (from his leaky puffa jacket, even Tarquin wouldn't travel in a feather boa). He had spent rather too many of his pink pounds in the champagne bar at St Pancras, I fear, and was in full Judy Garland mode when we came out (if you'll pardon the expression) onto the Grand'Place, which for some reason was crawling with boy scouts. Tarquin thought it must be bob-a-gob week. (His expression, not mine, I hasten to point out). We had great fun seeing who could chase them the fastest, and Tarquin nearly grabbed a venture scout's woggle.
We spent the weekend doing all the Brussels sights: at the Atomium he almost exhausted his supply of innuendoes. We also visited Ghent, which is a delightful town a mere half hour from Brussels on the train. We followed the recommended walking trail, starting with the Cathedral of Saint Barf (really!) which is stuffed with art works including a Rubens, had lunch outdoors in the Friday Market Place, and then ambled back along the canal. No tacky tourist shops, no lace, just lots of cafes, restaurants and chocolate shops. As you can see, the weather was wonderful, which was a shame in a way, as it meant I had no excuse to dig out my gay umbrella.
Back in Brussels we hit the shops. How many chaps do you know who would drag you into a lace shop? It was such fun sharing tips on moisturizers and perfumes, which is impossible with McChe who has an ideological aversion to soap. We also did a lot of eating and sampling as many of Belgium's 400 beers as we could. I shared with him my excitement over the apartment which I am about to buy. I will tell you more about that later, but suffice it to say that the new Wayne-Bough Towers is extremely well situated, in the Brussels equivalent of Kensington. I will have the city's major green space, the Parc du Cinquantenaire, on my doorstep, and I can see I am going to have to take up gentle jogging, or at the very least buy a pink Hermes track suit for Sunday morning cappuccinos on the terrace of Chez Martin, the bijou little bistro just by the park gates.
Civil partnerships are accepted everywhere
12 comments:
Can I sign up for the next Wayne Bough tour please. I like the idea of sampling 400 beers (you can skip the lace shop!).
Wonderful to hear that you will soon be rejoining the propertied classes, Lady Daphne. Your absence has surely been missed. Tarquin sounds like a vivacious fellow. I wonder if he models himself on Tarquin Biscuit-Barrel? Is he staying at the YMCA?
Now I know where Ghent is where the hell is Aix?
The trouble with even gentle jogging is bouncing boobies. It can't be good for them and one can't run nursing them. What will you do?
Looking forward to hearing more about your new abode.
Blumming crikey - I'm glad your new pad is in the 'Kensington' part of Bruxelles. I only live in the cheap area so I won't have to run out and give you CPR then?!
Gambo, give me a couple of months to get settled in, but sure, I'll even factor in an Anderlecht game. 400 is a bit ambitious though.
GB, such luck to live in the country where lace doilies are made! My arrival in the neighbourhood will certainly push house prices up overnight.
Pat, Aix-les-Bains (Aachen), Aix-la-Chapelle or Aix-en-Provence?
I think perhaps Tai Chi might be a more elegant Sunday morning exercise.
Goth, no false modesty please, your part of town is quite genteel and leafy, in keeping with your new image. I look forward to seeing you in the Barbour jacket and green wellies.
Soap is a tool of the ruling classes to make us uneducated proles feel inferior.
Also - it has a disguting taste, as every foul-mouthed radical child knows.
I'd drag you into a lace shop... well as long as there was silk involved as well!
Aachen is Aix-la-Chapelle, I visit them regularly, famous for the Christmas market and having a voodoo hold over Bayern Munchen at football. Even Brit tourists go for the Christmas market.
McChe, I expect the extra layers of dirt kept you Highlanders warm on those cold dark windy nights huddled round the peat fires in your crofts. Painting your face blue and lifting your kilt is not really suitable behaviour for Brussels town centre though. Except during carnival.
Brom, the lace you're thinking of is probably black and to be found in lingerie stores. Tarquin was more interested in petitpoint doilies and antimacassars. (Now Pat is going to have to step in and explain to you all what an antimacassar is).
Jake, thank you for correcting me there. I can't tell my Aix from my elbow.
God, I totally need to become gayer. I'm missing out on so much!
I was thinking 'How they brought the good news from Ghent to Aix.'
Guru, I've never understood why male gays have such good fashion sense and female gays don't.
Pat, your erudition has shamed us all. I had to go and look that up. Are you of the generation that did "recitation" in school? That would partly explain your acting talent.
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