It's an historic day. A new heir to the throne has fought its way rather belatedly out of the Duchess's flange and the world is rejoicing. I wish you something very cooling for your royal fanny, ma'am.
In Gent, the Feesten are in fullest swing. The stage nearest me seems to be mainly cover bands. Which could be interesting, except that Sweet Caroline, Living Next Door to Alice, Valerie, and Copacabana are played on a loop. I'm so close to the stage it feels like being locked in the back room of a pub that does live music for twelve hours a day. Actually tonight has been a bit more interesting and metally. I listened patiently (not much choice really) to see if they would do the walking bass bit in Hey Joe, or just fluff it. They did the walking bass!
I've been hanging out the window a fair bit, watching the parade, watching people, looking at the river (yes, it's a river apparently, not a canal), and watching the fireworks. I'm the still, quiet bit in the middle. It's taken a sprawling festival to make me feel that this is my home. I'm part of it, without actually taking part in it.
The heat prevents me seeing much of it: during the day it's lower-thirties outside. Also, I'm off to Paris, where it is hotter. I intend to find shade. And not move very much.
Oh, the lady from downstairs came up to apologise. She said she had called the police because a friend of hers was killed in a domestic violence situation. I grasped her arm, gently but firmly, and asked her never to do it again because there was nothing going on. Oddly, I haven't heard the warring brothers since but I will record them next time, just in case.