In the mornings in the car, I often catch a programme on Belgian radio called “Mon grand-père, ce héros“. It’s a clever little programme which has descendants of famous people talking about their famous antecedents (famous Belgians, I know). There was a lovely one earlier in the week about the Chinese artist who worked with Hergé on “The Blue Lotus” and a slightly more prosaic one on Jules Destrooper. But, today, as I drove up towards the Avenue Louise with the Etangs d’Ixelles in sunshine in my rearview mirror, they had Jacques Brel’s daughter talking about her father and, of course, they played one of his songs. Plus Belge, tu meurs.
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Anyone tired of the advance nostalgia yet?
