On Sunday, on foot of Thierry’s recommendation we went to see the Trash People in the Grand Place. As we approached, I was seized by fear. Was it an April fool’s joke� I had seen no mention of it anywhere but Thierry’s blog. Really were they going to fill the Grand Place with Trash People? Really, they were and here is a photo to prove it. Thierry, forgive my doubting.
EXCUSE ME, wannabe??
Our hero stood up gingerly. No bones broken then, he knocked his head painfully against the low roof of the dimly lit hut where he was lying and stepped out the door into what appeared to be an Amazonian rain forest. Friar Tuck looked up and smiled “you’re awake”. “Where am I?” said LJS curtly. “No need to be tetchy” said Friar Tuck, nettled. He smiled beatifically while surreptitiously scratching a scabrous limb “you’re in the Amazonian rain forest, Heather thought it would be best for you, you’ve been having a nice nap for, oh, about 3 months”. Friar Tuck laughed sinisterly, it was a new speciality and something he had been practising in the long wet afternoons. LJS gasped “But Pog and Bobble….” “They’ve been taken care of” said Friar Tuck and he gave his sinister laugh another outing. “Why have you taken me here, what is Heather’s dastardly plan?” “Now, now” said Friar Tuck soothingly “is that any way to talk about one who is our benefactress; sit down and let me explain”.
on 03 April 2005 at 04:10
“tetchy” is not in my dictionary, let alone my vocabulary. But I pick nits. At least I haven’t been taken care of.
HJB, in a good way? Bobble, yes, I would worry if I were you, but at least you don’t pick nits. 
on 05 April 2005 at 09:32
yes, in a very good way. I was out walking and decided to go home and write a piece and then you did it….the power of thought!
on 11 April 2005 at 10:46
Where am I? What have you done to me? Why do I own a flowery top and a Ghost dress?
I think I’ve been brainwashed.
on 18 April 2005 at 19:55
Well, you might be and then again, things could be taking a sinister turn…
“I am trying to find classes for my violin-enthused 2-year-old. In other countries they start violin with the Suzuki method at 2 or 3 but I cannot find any such classes in Brussels. The Brussels music schools start with “musical awakening” (read rhythm instruments) for young children but they have
next to nothing to offer in specific melody instruments and in the under 4s. Also, English would be highly preferable to
French in our case. Does anyone know a group, a class or a
private teacher who would be familiar with the Suzuki method or equivalent, who would welcome a 2-year-old and who would practice with violin/piano or other melody instrument and know English?”
From Readers’ questions and answers in the Brussels Childbirth Trust Magazine, April 2005. Good Lord, have these people no shame?
on 03 April 2005 at 04:05
Yes, absolutely no shame. A two year-old using a motorcycle for violin practice! What is she thinking.
on 04 April 2005 at 10:29
Well I never doubted you for a moment, waffle ….. besides, the poor mite already has several chart-topping CDs out, I heard (Vanessa Mae eat your heart out).
Ahem.
Margot Wallstrom’s blog. In particular her commenters. What is wrong with me?
Found this heartwarming tale via Dervala – it’s a bit long but, um, heartwarming.
Thanks to Thierry who is our source of information on all things Belgian, tomorrow we will investigate Trash People.
I think I should stop while I still can.
on 02 April 2005 at 10:05
Yeah, but it’s all a little weird isn’t it, the whole corporate blog thing?
on 02 April 2005 at 14:56
Some good links our Waffle.Nice to see that some people are still blogging. I’ve been away a few weeks and people are dropping like flies… How are the blotches?
This evening I hauled out one of the Princess’s toys and started playing with it and she said to me “NO, Mama, NO.”
“What’s wrong darling?”� “For looking at Mummy not for touching, it might break”.
You will remember my various ailments. Well, despite these, my loving daughter decided that all day yesterday as we trudged around airports only I could carry her. Would she like to go on Daddy’s shoulders? No. Would she care to walk? No. Would she fancy venturing into the royal buggy? You must be joking. So I carted her round all day because I am sap. When we finally arrived in Brussels, exhausted,10 hours
after leaving my parents’ home in Cork, I put her into the buggy to go from the plane to passport control. A distance of one short travelator. She went bananas. She roared blue murder. When we arrived at passport control. The woman behind the desk wagged her finger at me reproachfully and said “you must pick her up, you know, you can’t let her cry like that”.
VERY
