Huffing and Puffing

The owners of this property must have felt my withering sulk across the kilometres, because the door was fixed on Friday.  To the naked eye it looks all as before.  But it's pulled the skin off my safety and I'll keep my unworldy goods in my bag from now on, just in case.  The thwarted burglars can, if they wish, steal my four year old computer.  I believe my insurance covers it, and a more elegant new model might be nice.

It is as if the gingerbread house has been attacked by the big bad wolf, or something.  I won't run.  Gent is home.  Gent is the relief I feel as the train slows over the motorway, and the Belfort, whose clock is visible from my window, comes into view.  No.  I will eat any wolf that despoils these things.

Tonight as I left work, there was something weird happening at the junction where usually there are circus performers.  Several fire engines were focused on something in the road, putting it out with ragged plumes of foam, and water jets.  Of course, I did what most sensible people would do, and walked towards it.  Fire does that, it makes you want to go near it.  I thought it was unlikely that one of the circus guys had spontaneously combusted, but there seemed no logic to what was going on.

Turns out the fire guys are protesting by setting things on fire and then...erm...putting them out.  I may have missed some subtlety in this.  They want to meet the Prime Minister, that much I do know.  Something to do with money, I gather.  And that was my French and Dutch learning for the day.  There is a chance they might put the major Brussels stations out of action tomorrow which could be a bit of a pain.   However, I do want to go to IKEA so fingers crossed.