One of the nice things about living in a Muslim area is that most of the shops are open on a Sunday. In the parts of the city that are governed by a vaguely Christian sensibility, every bloody thing is shut. Whilst stomping about trying to find the 351 bus stop on the Chausée de Louvain, I chanced upon a fab shop that sells just about everything. One whole aisle dedicated to various shapes of pasta. And I was able to buy a tiny chopping board for my tiny, tiny kitchen; a thing for flipping my readymade Carrefour pancakes; and a sucky hook. Look I know what I mean. A hook that adheres by suction. All things I wanted! I intend to go back because I'm damn sure if I want something else it will be there.
Finally got to the storage facility about 4pm. Remind me to go on a Saturday - there was a lot of Sunday service bus-waiting in the cold. I quite like the storage place. All that punching in my secret code and huge gates opening at my command, and then marching around those empty corridors like I'm in a film. I now have books! Books! Eight should keep me going for a bit. And the clothes airer, and the iron, although I'm not sure how one uses that.