In fact she said nothing of the sort, mainly because she was probably draped over the railings down by the 88 bus stop. (Yes, unfortunately that is where we found her once, completely passed-out over the railings of a small park where the bus turned around.)
I have been feeling rather like an octopus in a jar of late. This flat that I love, in this area that I love, is just too small. It would be too small if I were 3ft 6. My books, which are sort of like my blood, are stacked up in the wardrobe. In the same way that other people dream of having fantastic kitchens or hot spa whirl pool things, I dream about having all my books on shelves and letting out a sigh.
Gent/Ghent is suggesting itself to me more and more. I have realised where all those people were striding to, across the park where I sat on my first day in this job. The Gare Centrale is about a twenty minute walk from my office, and Gent is a further half an hour.
In Gent, for what I pay here, I could rent an entire HOUSE.
Yes. An entire house. Ashes to ashes; funk to funky.