Most weekends I just sort of go into sleep mode, but this weekend it was actually like somebody with a proper life.
To start with it was the giving back of the keys to the apartment in Ixelles. I walked away (slithered away on snow-ice which, in places, was poopy) lighter in my stomach, and heavier in my backpack. There was a fair bit of mail to pick up. All that remains is to get back my deposit and then it's all done. I slid gracelessly down the road to the Celestin bar, which is notoriously open all day, all year (except Christmas). It looked shut. Then I realised it had just been sanded down for painting. It was like catching a tart without her make up. For the next hour or so I sat and drank rosé wine (what kind of bar runs out of red wine?), sorted my mail, and read a book, while the staff argued amongst themselves unrestrainedly.
Then I slithered up the hill to the opening of A's new catering business. A very exciting thing for him and anyone with a mouth. Having had A's fine profiteroles for my birthday, I can vouch for his fantastic baking skill. Then further slithering to the nice part of Schaerbeek to eat curry and watch a large portion of English comedy. This raucous evening ended back at D's, with a couple of the turns and us civilians, and we had a great time till about 3am. D and her houseboy looked after me beautifully, even giving me Port in bed. Not for breakfast, you understand.
Come the morning I splashed and slithered to S's lovely apartment and fluffy bobtail cats, whence we cabbed it to Britxos for a splendid brunch. After that I trolled through the leftovers of the Midi market and just caught the incoming Brugge train.
Couldn't do it every weekend but it was all lovely. I'll probably need to put myself on the charger a bit now.