The place, not the Simpsons character....
So here I am in the North, this means I'm going to have to possibly change my opening blog paragraphs and everything isn't it? Sigh, life is too difficult..
Everything has gone smoothly thus far and I only wish I has some time to whip of some well penned witty observations about how I'm finding things, but I'm lacking as much in time as I am in wit, so here be another drive by blog posting until such time as the guy in the office across from me finds me something to work on before I have to dash off and catch one of my very infrequent trains. Yes, the Flemish countryside, like the Parisien suburbs, can have a pretty haphazard transport link. But what I will say. About the trains. They have ticketmasters on them. With whistles. If you are running for your train, and you're really not even sure that it is your train anyway, but you'll give it a go and see where you end up just for the hell of it...the Trainmaster is there with his whistle. There to stop those train doors cruelly slamming in your face and leave you standing in the fog for the next century. They can also tell you if you've just made a dash for the right train or the mystery express. It's a pretty good metaphor for the rest of it really.
Anyway, must dash, the fog - well I'd say it was descending but it never really lifted - and I can hear a whistle in the distance....
Merry Christmas all.
1 comment:
And you! And yes, we'll have that celebration in January.
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