Today I will TRY to get to 28, rue de la Montagne, site of the old Hotel le Grand Miroir where Baudelaire lived during his infamous stay in Brussels in 1864-66—hating every single second of it and despising the Belgians, the Flemish, with a venomous passion. What to say on hearing a Belgian has died, he wonders? “At last!” Also on the same walk I can walk down the Rue des Cendres (Ashes) where the hospital was that Baudelaire was taken after he suffered his life-ending collapse, and the corner of Cendres and Blanchisserie which was the site of Lady Richmond’s mansion, where she staged “the most famous ball in history”, attended by Wellington and his generals on the eve of the Battle of Waterloo. As this day is flying by now, I might do that later, after dark, when there are less people around. Concentrate now on Cine Paris, early Fifth Avenue, then have a few beers in the Rue d’Aerschot while checking out the window girls. Thank god I, at least, have got my priorities right.
I decided better to hang around in Fifth Avenue as too late to waste 14 euros in Cine Paris, then I could go straight to Empire strip club, so that is what I then did. Some new girls on the street at this time. In Empire 4 or 5 girls, ——– included but as I say, even she did not move me, and if even ——— does not inspire me then no point coming back here at all. Unless I find myself in Brussels on a Friday or Saturday night when there are likely to be more girls to see, I will not bother again. Back to hotel via a little kebab/burger shop and brought a Bicky burger & chips back to my room, then—out like a light. To 7am initially then again till 1030ish. And here I am in the Max lounge, just finishing my second beer, 130pm. The day flying by already.
Coming to Café Jimmy and the Rue de Pelican corner I was shocked to find only THREE girls in the street. Approaching the Europe 2000 hotel where I had always gone with Beatris (long gone it seems) there were 4 girls but also 4 police officers and 2 police cars, talking to one of the girls. My god, I thought, they really are enforcing their fines of 350 euros that disgraced ex Mayor Mayeur brought in—for the girl and the customer both if caught. It did not look like they were there to help the girl, it looked like she was the one in trouble. “But this is a hotel” I heard her saying as I passed. This would explain why there are so few girls around now. Mayeur’s sterilisation scheme is absolutely working. Pitiful. And then I walked into Fifth Avenue, and there were just FOUR men and THREE girls! I have never seen it that empty at night. Inna plus 2 other girls at the bar with a couple of very drunk men, making a LOT of noise. While I was there 2 or 3 more girls did emerge, including little Emily who I always feel a tug of lust for despite her slender frame, but she didn’t stay for long.
So we finally arrived in Brussels and I bid my retard waste of space coach driver a silent farewell. Another thing to notice—on all my previous trips to Brussels, we always stopped at Gent, where a new driver took over, but this time our driver just carried on, and from Brussels he still had to carry on all the way to the final destination in Cologne. Running behind schedule, driving fast all the way, and with Cologne still another 5 hours or in the night, arriving around midnight he told someone, was he really going to be driving for 15 hours non stop? NOT an encouraging prospect for those carrying on all the way. Anyway, we got to Brussels Gare du Nord by 730pm, and I was in my hotel room before 8 of course. A quick shower, couple of beers, and I headed straight towards Fifth Avenue.
Anyway the memory of this girl was with me all the way through that agonising long drive from Calais to Brussels, and I think maybe this too contributed to me feeling so underwhelmed by —- & ——–. I will not see any sight like this white vest girl on this trip, I am sure, or for a very long time afterwards. She is the kind of girl, the kind of sight, you remember for the rest of your life. I am a scopophiliac, and I always always derive more pleasure from seeing than I do from actually doing. Anyway the sight of that white vest girl makes the whole trip worthwhile whatever else happens—and here I am 1pm on my final day in Brussels, still waiting FOR anything to happen.
My plan was always not to drink until I arrived in my Brussels hotel, but when the captain said 90 minutes crossing time, I knew I needed some beer to pass the time, and this meant that despite peeing three times before we reboarded our coach in the ferry, I was still absolutely painfully bursting to pee for the entire 3-hour journey to Brussels. Agonising. So when I finally did arrive, it is hardly any surprise to find I didn’t feel any spark of lust even for —- and ——–, who were probably my two biggest reasons for coming back here so soon. However, it was pleasant enough to experience, a rare experience, to be on a boat again, and I tried to enjoy the sensation of it. Such an old-fashioned way of reaching Europe made me feel like Lord Byron; in actual fact what came to mind was Triangle, the short-lived BBC soap, and the first episode where First Officer Larry Lamb looks down from the bridge at a naked Kate O’Mara sunbathing on the deck below. Which brings me to the one great thing of the whole journey—while going to buy my first beer, I glanced to my right and there was a light black-skinned girl in white vest and skin tight blue leggings also in the queue, looking me in the eyes. Very nice. I then sat in an armchair by the window watching the port, as we started to leave, then the beautiful green sea in the blazing sunshine. I never knew the English Channel looked so beautiful. I thought of it as being muddy grey-brown, but it actually looks beautiful. Then glancing to my left I noticed the same white vest girl was sitting on the window-side couch just to my left. A few moments later, I glanced again and oh my word, she was now lying flat on her back on the couch, the skin tight blue leggings facing towards me. Next time I glanced and oh my word, she was now lying flat on her stomach, and her amazing thighs & buttocks were right there in front of me. I could see every little twitch of her buttock muscles. She quite clearly was wearing no underwear at all. I could see every contour of the curve of her buttocks and following it down to the space between her legs. I got an erection there & then. I tried not to but I could not help keep looking. Did she know what she was doing to me? Was it for my benefit? Of course it was! The little bitch! Honestly, I sat there gazing in lustful adulation at those magnificent thighs, arse & other places, and thinking this, right now, is the greatest sight of my life. She had an extraordinary figure, and either she was sleeping or just breathing hard, because I could see her body lifting & falling very fast, like she knew I was looking, and it excited her. After 2 pints, we were now nearing Calais, and I tore myself away. There was the whole bar full of people behind me quite possibly watching me oglingly watching this girl’s arse & thighs like a pervert, but I didn’t care. I am on holiday, and this is what I travel for.
I think I’ve travelled to Brussels on Megabus three times and Eurolines once, and every time we went through the tunnel, which is really quick and hassle-free, so it was a shock to discover we were going on the ferry. This is where our nightmare really began. We arrived at Dover around 1115 and began our passport/manifest check. It wasn’t until 1248(!) that we were finally ready to move to approach the ferry! Why the delay—no idea, because the driver never explained a fucking word. Finally pulling up to join the ferry he announced “45 minutes until our departure”! ANOTHER 45 minutes to wait?!? I bumped into him in the shopping area where we went to kill time (and pee; oh I forgot to say the toilets on the coach were not working and could not be used) and asked him if we would still be arriving in Brussels on schedule. “Yes?” he replied brusquely, as if wondering why I was asking such a stupid question. We’re still going to be there by 430? I queried. “Yes?” he replied brusquely, again as if wondering why I was asking such a stupid and petulant question. I ended our discussion then and bid him thanks. And then on the boat when the captain said our journey time is 90 minutes I knew we were going to be seriously late. We arrived in Calais just about the time we were supposed to be arriving in Brussels and I knew from my past coach trips it is about a 3-hour drive time. So why then did he tell me yes, we were going to be on time? Unless he always knew we were going to be there 730pm, rather than the 430pm which we all bought our tickets for!