How do you solve a problem like IKEA?

After removing 22 nails from the back of the wardrobe, the rest was easy.  I say easy - all the bits are still resting in various awkward knitwear poses in my bedroom, waiting to be wiped down and taken to the garage.  22 fucking nails.  That's some kind of Swedish sadism.  I had to crack the heads off them and ease the hardboard back away.  You don't need skill for that, just terrier-like doggedness.  And a big screwdriver.

I may have a home for Luna.  I don't want to be too optimistic in case it goes tits up but by next week she could be in her new home.  I haven't told her yet.  She's a cat, she won't understand.  At some point I may have to drug her into the cat basket.  I'll think about that tomorrow, like Scarlett O'Hara.

I've been thinking about the weird things I'll miss when I no longer live in Belgium.  There are not many. 

1.  Normalement.  This doesn't mean "normally".  It means "hopefully", "probably", "well, that's what you might expect, all things being equal", or "if the Gods are willing".  It's an expression of slightly hesitant optimism rather than an explanation of what usually happens.

2. Describing time by the 24 hour clock, i.e., "I could meet you at 15."  This makes perfect sense to a European.

3. The 13th month payment.  We get two paydays in December.  Happy Christmas!

4.  Days off in the middle of the week for things like Jesus or his mum going to Heaven.

I think that's everything.  Soon, I will be voting for the first time as a Belgian national.  I have no idea what to do, but it's mandatory, so I'd better work it out.  I'll take my screwdriver.