We had a heated (not really) discussion about white socks at the dinner table last night, where I seemed to be the only one not overly concerned about them.
I'm wondering if I somehow missed the meeting where white socks were deemed completely unacceptable, or if this is maybe just a Belgian pet peeve.
Everyone but me seemed to fall in to the "I would rather wear my underwear on the outside of my pants than wear white socks" category, while I'm in the softer "I don't wear them but I know people who do and we tend to like the same films" category.
To be clear, I don't mind people not liking white socks, but the general level of complete and utter repulsiveness expressed by my dining buddies - and my contrasting feeling of not caring so much - made me think I may have some catching up to do.
But first I need to confirm if this is a world wide opinion, or just something the small group of friends that got together last night has in common by pure coincidence.
The small group of friends, with the exception of one, that is.
So, gentle reader, pray tell, what category would you put yourself in when it comes to white socks?
Friday, March 30, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
First of the season
Two evenings in a row spent on a terrace bathed warm sunshine, drinking exquisite beer.
Summer is coming. :)
Summer is coming. :)
Friday, March 23, 2007
Crisis!
The office vending machine has been out of waffles for a week!
Out of waffles! In Belgium! I fear a mutiny if this hasn't been fixed by Monday...
I've been really bad at writing lately, and I could use the lack of waffles as an excuse, but I won't. I've just been lazy. It's not that nothing's been going on, because it has. Let's see.
My apartment is for sale. Check it out on www.eignaval.is (can't link directly to my place, but it's listed under newest properties).
Most of my stuff is also for sale, if you're interested.
I'm coming/going to Iceland (depending on your location). 28th of April - 6th of May. Update your calendars please.
I'm now listed as Björn Kristinsson - Belgium in the Icelandic National Registry.
Life is exciting :)
Have a nice weekend everyone.
Out of waffles! In Belgium! I fear a mutiny if this hasn't been fixed by Monday...
I've been really bad at writing lately, and I could use the lack of waffles as an excuse, but I won't. I've just been lazy. It's not that nothing's been going on, because it has. Let's see.
My apartment is for sale. Check it out on www.eignaval.is (can't link directly to my place, but it's listed under newest properties).
Most of my stuff is also for sale, if you're interested.
I'm coming/going to Iceland (depending on your location). 28th of April - 6th of May. Update your calendars please.
I'm now listed as Björn Kristinsson - Belgium in the Icelandic National Registry.
Life is exciting :)
Have a nice weekend everyone.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Spring
This is the first time I see spring approaching in another country.
It's nice: 15°C, and the trees are blooming. Nice white and pink flowers... on the trees. I can't stress this enough, folks, they have some sort of strange mutant tree-flowers around here.
The incident with the policeman has a simple enough explanation. Ingibjörg was right; he was at my place to see if I actually live there. This is something they do around here.
Some weeks ago I registered my new address, and was told a policeman would come for a visit. I had nearly forgotten about that promised visit when finally I got a letter asking me for my address. Read that last part again if you didn't catch the absurdity. :)
That meant the policeman had come by a few times, and I was never there. Later I found out that he had come by 9 times, all but once sometime between three and four in the afternoon. Of course I wasn't home, I was at work! *sigh* So I had to go myself to pick up the policeman.
---
Belgian police stations are funny. The policemen look like cartoon characters, most of them with a moustache, really fat or somehow otherwise a caricature of a caricature.
The first one had a moustache. Asked me what I wanted, explained I was in the wrong place, and I explained I was, in fact, in the right place. He asked me to wait. Another policeman, this time the special 'I-come-to-your-place-to-see-if-you-live-there' agent (fat), came and asked me what I wanted, explained I was in the wrong place, and I explained I was, in fact, in the right place. He also asked me to wait, but at least this time I was offered a seat.
The fattest policeman sat opposite me while I waited. Gulped down a can of diet coke while disinterestedly asking me about my reasons for being there. Got off his chair and disappeared for a few minutes, then came back with another diet coke.
A policeman that looked like santa claus walked in, looked bewildered, then walked out again. It would have been kinda funny if it wasn't for the gun he had strapped to his waist.
Finally my policeman came back with all the required paperwork, and told me he would be at my place in 15 minutes. Hence the wild dash back to my apartment for some last minute tidying up.
And that explains that!
It's nice: 15°C, and the trees are blooming. Nice white and pink flowers... on the trees. I can't stress this enough, folks, they have some sort of strange mutant tree-flowers around here.
The incident with the policeman has a simple enough explanation. Ingibjörg was right; he was at my place to see if I actually live there. This is something they do around here.
Some weeks ago I registered my new address, and was told a policeman would come for a visit. I had nearly forgotten about that promised visit when finally I got a letter asking me for my address. Read that last part again if you didn't catch the absurdity. :)
That meant the policeman had come by a few times, and I was never there. Later I found out that he had come by 9 times, all but once sometime between three and four in the afternoon. Of course I wasn't home, I was at work! *sigh* So I had to go myself to pick up the policeman.
---
Belgian police stations are funny. The policemen look like cartoon characters, most of them with a moustache, really fat or somehow otherwise a caricature of a caricature.
The first one had a moustache. Asked me what I wanted, explained I was in the wrong place, and I explained I was, in fact, in the right place. He asked me to wait. Another policeman, this time the special 'I-come-to-your-place-to-see-if-you-live-there' agent (fat), came and asked me what I wanted, explained I was in the wrong place, and I explained I was, in fact, in the right place. He also asked me to wait, but at least this time I was offered a seat.
The fattest policeman sat opposite me while I waited. Gulped down a can of diet coke while disinterestedly asking me about my reasons for being there. Got off his chair and disappeared for a few minutes, then came back with another diet coke.
A policeman that looked like santa claus walked in, looked bewildered, then walked out again. It would have been kinda funny if it wasn't for the gun he had strapped to his waist.
Finally my policeman came back with all the required paperwork, and told me he would be at my place in 15 minutes. Hence the wild dash back to my apartment for some last minute tidying up.
And that explains that!
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
(mostly) True story
I raced over the tram-line tracks as fast as I dared and took the last turn before arriving at my house, tyres squeeling*. I hastily dashed across the road, and rushed into my apartment, taking the stairs two steps at a time**.
I somehow managed to unlock the door despite my hands shaking, and I ran inside. Threw some empty cans and bottles into a bag, covered up the items lying on the chair with a blanket I found, emptied the kitchen table as well as I could, found more empty cans, couldn't find the bag...
The doorbell rang.
I hesitated.
It rang again.***
I put the cans down and, resigned to my fate, went to the door phone. I picked it up and the screen flickered to life. The black-and-white image showed my front door eclipsed by a large bald head.
"Yes?" I said.
"It's the police," came the reply.
To be continued.****
* Not really squeeling. But I did go kinda fast.
** Not true. I took the elevator.
*** Not true either, just for dramatic effect.
**** In the comments or otherwise ;)
I somehow managed to unlock the door despite my hands shaking, and I ran inside. Threw some empty cans and bottles into a bag, covered up the items lying on the chair with a blanket I found, emptied the kitchen table as well as I could, found more empty cans, couldn't find the bag...
The doorbell rang.
I hesitated.
It rang again.***
I put the cans down and, resigned to my fate, went to the door phone. I picked it up and the screen flickered to life. The black-and-white image showed my front door eclipsed by a large bald head.
"Yes?" I said.
"It's the police," came the reply.
To be continued.****
* Not really squeeling. But I did go kinda fast.
** Not true. I took the elevator.
*** Not true either, just for dramatic effect.
**** In the comments or otherwise ;)
Tow-aways
The Parisian adventure, as far as I was concerned, mostly consisted of losing and recovering things.
Before we even left Gent I realized my wallet was missing and after racing back to the apartment to look for it, then to the supermarket where I last remembered seeing it, then frantically trying to call the bank to lock my cards, I finally found it, lodged between the driver's seat and the door of my car.
I felt embarrassed at that point, but knowing that someone else would be more embarrassed later that day would have given me some consolation if it wasn't for the circumstances of that embarassment.
Excited yet? No? Ok, I won't go into too much details, but basically I lost my car. It was parked illegally, and the police took it away. And I was the only one who insisted that we shouldn't park there, while the others said "C'mon, everyone else is doing it, nothing will happen." But something did and the others were embarrassed, and I would have been in a gleeful "I-told-you-so" mood if I hadn't been worried sick about my car having vanished.
Apart from that, Paris was nice. I got to see all the major sights: la basilique du Sacré-Cœur (pictured), the Eiffel tower (from a distance), Notre Dame, Louvre (the outside) and many more. Had some crêpes and a bit of quiche.
Of the two capitals I've visited since leaving Iceland, it's a solid second place, though ;)
Before we even left Gent I realized my wallet was missing and after racing back to the apartment to look for it, then to the supermarket where I last remembered seeing it, then frantically trying to call the bank to lock my cards, I finally found it, lodged between the driver's seat and the door of my car.
I felt embarrassed at that point, but knowing that someone else would be more embarrassed later that day would have given me some consolation if it wasn't for the circumstances of that embarassment.
Excited yet? No? Ok, I won't go into too much details, but basically I lost my car. It was parked illegally, and the police took it away. And I was the only one who insisted that we shouldn't park there, while the others said "C'mon, everyone else is doing it, nothing will happen." But something did and the others were embarrassed, and I would have been in a gleeful "I-told-you-so" mood if I hadn't been worried sick about my car having vanished.
Apart from that, Paris was nice. I got to see all the major sights: la basilique du Sacré-Cœur (pictured), the Eiffel tower (from a distance), Notre Dame, Louvre (the outside) and many more. Had some crêpes and a bit of quiche.
Of the two capitals I've visited since leaving Iceland, it's a solid second place, though ;)
Friday, March 2, 2007
P-p-p-p-p-p-paris
Is only 3 hours away, so why not pop over there for a weekend? Actually there are probably hundreds of reasons you could come up with (fuel costs, time, laziness, the French...) but I won't listen and I'm going anyway. Avec mes chers amis Renoit et Elyssa. Je m'appelle Byornues et j'ai une baguette dans mon pantalon! VIVÉ LA LIBERTÉ!
As you see, I'm already getting into the mood.
As my readers pointed out in my comments, it was Gaston la Gaffe's 50th birthday the other day. To celebrate - and this was inspired by his epic battles with parking meters - parking was free in Brussels for the whole day (any money put into the parking meters went to a childrens' hospital). Which was nice.
Also, I look like a mouse detective.
That is all for now. Au revoir!
As you see, I'm already getting into the mood.
As my readers pointed out in my comments, it was Gaston la Gaffe's 50th birthday the other day. To celebrate - and this was inspired by his epic battles with parking meters - parking was free in Brussels for the whole day (any money put into the parking meters went to a childrens' hospital). Which was nice.
Also, I look like a mouse detective.
That is all for now. Au revoir!
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