John Newman and Sam Smith seemed to gently emerge at the same time

John Newman and Sam Smith seemed to gently emerge at the same time, and I always got confused between the two of them (one might say they merged at the same time they emerged), but then Sam Smith went stratospheric, and John Newman just stayed where he was, I don’t know why. A tragedy on both counts, no doubt. Calvin Harris’s stratospheric rise is also a mystery to me. His songs are so weak, and his beats as well, and yet not a week seems to go by without another chart-topping Calvin Harris track. Some people have the incredible skill of making immense capital out of very little discernible talent. Every Calvin Harris track is so forgettable and weak, yet he rakes in millions nonetheless. The Orient Express barmaid is probably the best memory of this holiday.

Something I discovered or re-discovered last night

Something I discovered, or re-discovered, last night, drinking in the Ibis bar even after they turned the lights off, till 1AM, is that I DO feel more like doing naughty things late at night—and those post-midnight  Brussels expeditions and Berlin Walks to Stuttgarter Platz were for a good reason. I am a nocturnal creature, and I do feel more alive in the dead of night; I shall resume my very late night visits to Gare du Nord in Brussels; I felt completely safe last night and was completely unaccosted both in the Rue d’Aerschot itself and on the long walk back. That bizaree 4-trips-in-a-row sequence of being targetted by pickpockets or necklace snatchers seems a long time ago. And by the time I got to the Rue d’Aerschot, 130AM, it was PACKED. Busy, busy, with people. Like Oxford Street. I felt so comfortable sitting in Le Cigalle and the Derniere Minute drinking, watching the men passing to & fro. I will resume my late evening trips to the Rue d’Aerschot and I think Stuttgarter Platz in Berlin, if anything is left. But my KEENNESS to go out after 1AM last night was a very notable realisation. I feel more at ease in the early hours of the morning; more alive. I look forward to drinking in the Berlin Plaza bar till they close, and then walking at 1AM  in the morning along the silent empty Berlin streets—christ, you could NEVER find a central London street quiet and empty at any hour of the night—to Stuttgarter Platz. Though for little point—as Hanky Panky is gone, Mon Cheri is gone, Startlight, Night Dreams, Golden Gate, Blue Bananas are all gone. By the time I get back maybe even the last couple will be gone too—Sissi Bar, and Monte Carlo. And over the road Bon Bon (I never liked) and around the corner Club 77 (no good since Angelique decamped far across town). Le Coin is just a short stroll away, but I don’t even think of going there.

The Orient Express has an absolutely fantastic selection of music channels

The Orient Express has an absolutely fantastic selection of music channels—they can take their choice. Trace, MTV Dance, now turning it to MCM. This is how hotel TVs used to be, a large selection of music channels. At least 3 or 4. Oh the manager has just changed the channel to MTV Dance. I preferred MCM to be honest. Got to see some French/Belgian music on there. Maybe he did it because he knows I am English and might prefer a more English channel. On the contrary. The Orient Express also charges just 1,80 for a small (25cl) beer—that seems to be the standard for Brussels. I can’t wait to come back to Brussels; but next time I really will have to go to Saint-Idesbald to go to the Delvaux Museum, or Namur for the Rops Museum.

Yes indeed my hotel TV has music videos only from 2am to 6am

Yes, indeed my hotel TV has music videos only from 2am to 6am. Late at night the Orient Express usually puts the music channel on, and in those two Rue d’Aerschot bars I went in they both had music channels on their TV, though silent and music actually coming from some jukebox. The only music videos I ever see in Vienna these days are in the Manhattan brothel.

I feel like Greece

I feel like Greece, lurching from one payment deadline to the next, and it always looks like I will not be able to make the payment, but somehow I just about manage it. If I didn’t travel I could slowly return to financial well-being, but without travel I don’t see any point to life. Why is sitting in a Brussels  bar staring out the window so much better than sitting in a London bar staring out the window? I don’t know, but it is. If Soho hadn’t been wiped out, Astral Cinema, Carnival Strip, Sunset Cinema, in particular, maybe I would not need to travel; but if Soho is dead then I must travel for those kind of jollies. Almost 2 o’clock already; I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere. 2 o’clock now and I think I’m getting to the point now where I think I will NOT be going anywhere–I was planning on going up to Gare du Nord and checking out the windows again and this time the porn kinos up there; but I don’t think I will bother going all that way now. I wish I could stay in Brussels forever; so close to home, a wonderful suspension, and always the possibility of naughtiness if you want it (I haven’t on this trip) (but it makes you feel so relaxed to know that there are whores available if you want them).

That is the thing about hotel bars

That is the thing about hotel bars: the bar maid or bar man never seems to be there. They are off doing god knows what, smoking outside, chatting shit with the kitchen staff. I had to wait a full EIGHT MINUTES last night before the bar man appeared. I want a Brussels Grill steak, I want chicken & chips, I want pizza slices from Sbaro, I want ham & egg rolls from the station. I used to feel this passionate about strippers and whores but now it is just for food. I have spent about 50% of this stay sitting at the Ibis bar staring at the rather Stalinist brutalist Gare du Midi, at the trams & buses rolling in & out, and this makes me happy. One of the notable things about Brussels is the lack of traffic lights at really very big junctions and the chaotic free-for-all that results. No wonder you so rarely see cyclists in Brussels.

Not enjoying this beer at all

Not enjoying this beer at all. If I have to go home I would much rather just get straight on the train and go but I have 4 hours to kill unfortunately. Central railway stations in Europe are amazing, there are SO MANY food outlets, you want to buy something from every one. So. Much. Food. It is unbelievable. Best memories of this holiday? Nothing at all really, except the food. The gorgeous pizza slices and rolls from the station. That is all I have eaten. I never went for my chicken & chips in the restaurant next to L’Orient Express; never went for a Brussels Grill steak; just bought all my food from the station and had it in my room. I wish I had not checked out so I could take some more food back to my room again. The De Brouckere Brussels Grill is closed for a “technical reason” but peeping through a crack in the covering it looks like it is being completely ripped out. There is another one by Grand Place apparently; I never saw that one. Maybe I will look for it later. 1.10 already.

2AM walk back to my hotel

Earlier Ciné Paris had been poor

Earlier Ciné Paris had been poor, two quite old films but for the second visit in a row no old pervert sat next to me which was a lovely relief. I felt as cold as an icicle, just went to have a look in 5th then back to the hotel with my food, where I slept. Another lovely lazy visit, not fallen in love, not done anything naughty, just a lovely relaxing three days. I look forward to coming back again soon.

In the Ibis bar for the last time on this visit

In the Ibis bar for the last time on this visit. I left the bar 1AM this morning and got a taxi up to Gare du Nord; I felt I had to do something. Didn’t just want to meekly go to bed on my last night. For the first time I had a drink in one of those little cafés that are dotted between the windows. One in the Fiesta Café and another in the Derniere Minute, small beers at a very cheap 1,80 each. There was nothing in the windows to take my fancy: both the peepshow/videokabin places were already closed so I just walked back down to Gascogne and actually bothered to go in this time. 20 euros entry with 2 free drinks. Like everywhere I go in Belgium and Germany the dancers keep their knickers on. (Therefore I was probably the only person there not wearing underwear). I was interested to hear from one of the girls that private dances are 100 euros for 20 minutes, but both she and YOU get naked, and it is “more than just a dance”. Or 10 minutes for 50 euros. Another girl quoted me massage for the price of a bottle of champagne 300 euros. I popped into Empire as well but the girls here were even less enticing than the Gascogne girls and I walked all the way back to the hotel. I used to think this was a massively long never-ending walk (maybe because I always took the wrong turning at the end) but this time it seemed very quick and easy. I was glad I had done something at least.

Orient Express and Avenue Fonsny at night

So here we are on my third and final night

So here we are on my third and final night and I’ve still yet to see a naked woman. I pretty much slept through this whole three-day trip. Slept through the game on Tuesday, same Wednesday.

Funny to sit in Le Coin bar in Brussels

Funny to sit in Le Coin bar in Brussels listening to Pogues Rainy Night in Soho.

I seem to have spent just 53 euros on my first day in Brussels

I seem to have spent just 53 euros on my first day in Brussels, and just 53 euros on my second day, so I think I can go a little mad tonight and even try the places which I know are a waste of money—Empire, Gascogne and even that American Guest Bar by the opera. I haven’t felt turned on at all on this trip; even sitting in the Coin surrounded by all those busty, big bottomed floozies who would have blown my mind once upon a time. But I have enjoyed the drinking, and the daydreaming; just to be held in suspension. A river cuts its own course. If I try to force myself into being turned on, it will not work. I miss the old nights out of my head with lust, but I think they are gone forever. My god, those Stuttgarter Platz nights in Berlin, in Hanky Panky, Mon Cheri, Golden Gate and Monte Carlo! The Schillerstraβe nights in Munich: Atlantic City and Femina! Will I ever feel high like that again? Maybe the difference these days is possibly I always go there in daytime; if I resumed night-time explorations it might be better. Leave days for drinking & eating & sleeping, till 7pm at least, then start again.

L’Orient Express at night

The Ibis does have an MTV channel

The Ibis does have an MTV channel, but it only shows music videos between 2am and 5am in the morning, when they think nobody is watching so it will be all right. The internet connection is excellent, and the beer in the bar is ice cold. I am glad to be back in the Ibis.

1115 in the Ibis bar

1115 in the Ibis bar. First beer of the day. I was thinking maybe today I could have an old style Brussels day. Getting very drunk in the bar in the evening to prepare me for a trip up to Gare du Nord. Switch from beer to vodka to get me proper drunk. Not as late as midnight though; try to get the last train back.

Avenue Fonsny

When I used to come to Brussels I would go to the Museum of Modern Art on every visit

When I used to come to Brussels I would go to the Museum of Modern Art on every visit. Now that has gone, replaced by a Magritte Museum and a Fin de Siècle Museum, neither of which I have any desire to return to. Please give us back our Museum of Modern Art. The Delvauxs, the Genie du Mal, the De Chirico, the Temptation of St Antony, the Alfred Stevens Salome. 110am the barman has turned all the lights off in the bar. We carry on drinking in semi-darkness. My love affair with the Ibis has resumed.

Real Madrid have totally muzzled Gareth Bale

Real Madrid have totally muzzled Gareth Bale. What happened? He was a tornado, a whirlwind, a one man threshing machine. What did they do to him? The barman just gave me two small beers for the price of one. I’ve no idea why, he doesn’t look gay, and I certainly don’t. No, I don’t. 0058 and still a few people in the bar. 1am already my last full day in Brussels has technically begun. I will try to get to Ciné Paris early. Then to Gare du Nord to finish.

Back in the Ibis bar, midnight, quite busy

Back in the Ibis bar, midnight, quite busy. No, the place is no good for people watching, but I love just watching all the buses and trams rolling in and out of the station opposite. Something calming about it. Already I can’t wait to come back, and I still have another day and a half to go. And I’ve done nothing. Yet I am not bored. I am calm and at ease.

Really did nothing again today

Really did nothing again today, but I am not complaining. From Ibis bar to Orient Express to Le Coin, and then back to the hotel via the station to buy some rolls. The girls of Le Coin are ridiculous—they are all so busty and “butty”. Huge bosoms and huge bottoms. The complete opposite of the Fifth Avenue girls sadly. Then slept through to 10pm and that’s the day gone! But I am not complaining. I come out to Orient Express for a nightcap. The barmaid is amazing, just my type, short, petite, 5ft nothing but amazingly voluptuous. I could spend my life here, but unfortunately they are closing five minutes from now. Soon after I sat down she changed the football channel to a music channel (Trace), like she knows my tastes. The Orient Express is such a beautiful little bar, the posters, the pictures, the books, fake and real. The brass ornaments.

The L’Orient Express has ice cold Jupiler beer

The L’Orient Express has ice cold Jupiler beer. The chicken & chip shop opposite looked packed (at 115pm). Their food is nice and very reasonably priced. What an amazing world we live in—you can go into a bar, have a beer, choose a girl then go upstairs and sleep with her. But not in France [you still can, for a while], or Norway or Sweden. These castrated, emasculated, oestrogenised countries. The manager of the bar has arrived—prepare for the slapping on the fruit machine to begin. It must be amazing to own a bar—just stroll in and sit there all day, don’t have to do any work, free drinks. No wonder he always looks so happy. Christ, all I can think about is food. I might go straight to Le Coin, and forget about going anywhere too far from Midi right now. Drink now, come back to Midi for food, sleep, then go out later after another drinking session in the Ibis bar watching the football. I am already at the point where I am too drunk to have sex; still I love to be surrounded by whores.

I feel so happy to be in Brussels these days

I feel so happy to be in Brussels these days; not doing anything, just drinking and gazing out the window in a world of my own. One day I will have to force myself to go to Paris—oh but no, prostitution is banned [still in the balance actually], and I don’t feel comfortable in a city without whores. It calms my soul & spirit & mind. Even if I do not indulge, just to know they are there, makes me so much more relaxed. Maybe Le Coin, Cine Paris, Dome then Gare du Nord. By the time I get back to the hotel the football may have started and I can watch a bit before bed? Thursday my last night will be my late night, when I will take myself to Orient Express and catch the last metro up to Gare du Nord, god help me. Already this trip to Brussels feels too short. I feel so at ease here.

1149AM in the Ibis bar

1149AM in the Ibis bar. No point going back to Fifth today sadly; maybe try Le Coin again then walk up to Gare du Nord, and pop in to Le Coin on the way back. After returning to the hotel early yesterday evening I then slept through to 3AM, and missed the Bayern v Barca game. I hope I can catch the Real v Juve game tonight. The Ibis Stella is lovely and cold. I noticed Fifth Avenue has now got frosted glass in the windows with its opening hours displayed on it—in English. They’ve just started laying out a buffet of hot food in the Ibis bar, and it smells absolutely gorgeous. If I eat though I will not want to go out. All I think about when I travel these days is drinking, and eating. I have to make a real effort to force myself to go to the naughty places. Better to go to Gare du Nord later, when it gets dark, though not too late, this being Brussels. I discovered that using the crossing about twenty yards down the road makes crossing much less terrifying. Late in life I make these blindingly obvious discoveries. Late in life; what a thing to say. I still feel like a child. Still feel at least in my twenties as I was (just about) when I first came to Europe. Where did my life go? So many years lost to depression, and unable to face the world, and unable to cope with life. It was only in the strip clubs and brothels of Europe that I really learnt to cope with life and discovered some comfort and calmness. Then I would come back to London and be able to cope with life and work much better. I love Europe. I want Britain to be out of the EU but I love Europe. I love the countries of Europe and the people of Europe.

After leaving the Ibis bar yesterday

After leaving the Ibis bar yesterday it seems I got through just a further 23 euros on my first day in Brussels! I already had some jumps left on the ticket in my wallet so went straight on to the metro to De Brouckere, drew some money from the machine, then went to Ciné Paris. Pleased to say no old pervert sat next to me or even followed me from screen to screen, so I enjoyed the films in peace. For the first visit in a long time I left with a full erection as I headed along Rue des Commercants. The only attractive girl was Beatrice, as always. I fancied her, I was tempted, but pressed on to Fifth Avenue. The decline continues. In my short stay there was never more than 5 or 6 girls sitting there, not even Andrea. Pretty much all of them were the usual regulation Romanians, no stars. When I first used to go to Fifth there were so many girls, and such a mixture, Moroccans, Brazilians, Romanians; now it seems all quite bland Romanians. Very poor. I came away hoping to bump into Beatrice again but did not see her. Already very drunk, I popped into the Dome just to see my black barmaid and have one more small beer, then somehow came back to the hotel, but I do not remember it.

Here I am drunk in the Ibis bar

Here I am drunk in the Ibis bar, just watching the buses and trams leaving the Gare du Midi; and loving it. So happy, relaxed, at peace. Yes, Fifth is poor, and Le Coin is poor—but there is always that calmness of sitting in a bar filled with whores isn’t there.

Charisma is everything in football & politics (and everything)

Charisma is everything in football & politics (and everything): when you see Guardiola or Mourinho speaking, you want to turn the TV up to hear what they are saying, even if you can’t understand the language they are speaking in. When you see Ed Miliband speaking, you want to turn over even though you understand the language, the way he speaks just makes me cringe. David is a beautiful and convincing speaker; Ed is not. That is why Labour lost this election in 2010, when Ed betrayed his brother. The last 5 years has just been 5 wasted years; Labour only have one “big beast” and that is David Miliband. If I was a football player in a team meeting I would WANT to hear what Guardiola or Mourinho have to say to me; I would not want to hear what Moyes had to say. I would want to hear what David Miliband had to say; I would not want to hear what Ed Miliband had to say. I’m going to make it a rule now: whenever I go to the Gare du Midi to buy my paper and my rolls, I will walk THREE times around the station before buying. You see so many sexy women in that place. Incredible to think that Labour actually went backwards after Brown; but that is what they did when they elected Ed; how stupid can they be? Or who stupid can the unions be. Rather lose with a leftie, than win with a centrist, so get the right forever. What this election seems to tell us is—Britain HATES coalitions actually. We want one side to have a proper clear run at it, judge them, and if they fuck up or run out of ideas, then let the other side have a clear run at it.

80 euros in my pocket

80 euros in my pocket, but better start at De Brouckere to get some more starting cash out. Start with a Cine Paris, a Fifth Avenue, then back to Dome for an early “nightcap”. 115pm now. The receptionist was gorgeous; 12 years ago I would have fallen in love with her. Drinking used to set my blood on fire and make me high and turned on; now it just makes me heavy, bloated and soporific. For christ’s sake I want a Labour Party with fire in its belly. That comes out all guns blazing. That is what I want from a football team, or a band, and from a political party. Have the fucking courage of your convictions and go for it. And that doesn’t mean arguing the toss with the government over every single point; pick and choose your important themes and argue fiercely on those alone. Rest of the time, if the government’s ideas are broadly ok, then support them. Politicians’ approval ratings go up when they say nice things about their opponents and are complimentary; Labour should try it more often. If I drink too much I am too impotent; if I don’t drink enough I am too cautious and conservative. Hard to find the exact point when I’m in the mood and have drunk just the right amount. Yes, Conservative voters would take a chance on David Miliband but not on Ed Miliband; David just has that vital x-factor which makes the subtle but huge difference.

As soon as you’re out of the Channel Tunnel

As soon as you’re out of the Channel Tunnel before you know it you’re in Lille; as soon as you leave Lille before you know it you are in Brussels. Brussels is really becoming my home from home; one place where I can just sit and rest and LOOK BACK at London, and my existence in London. What does that existence amount to? I am free, and single, and CALM. I have uploaded 3 of my first 4 books on to Amazon so they are at least preserved for posterity. And after that, I just keep on adding to them. I really don’t want for anything else now—just the freedom to travel, repeatedly, back to the same places. For that oblivion, that suspension, that transcendence. To pass through the lens, to pass through Orphée’s watery black mirror. The Visceral Pleasure in Detachment of an Autistic Person. Prepare for three days of alcohol—Stella, Maes, Jupiler. My arse will be stinging like hell by tomorrow night I expect, and I will be shitting blood. Welcome to my life.

In the Channel Tunnel already

In the Channel Tunnel already; as soon as we leave St Pancras we seem to be in the Channel Tunnel. The journey to Brussels is ridiculously fast. How amazing after all these years I still feel no desire to go to Paris for a change. Prostitution is illegal now in France I understand [not yet so, in fact! Still being fought over as we speak, French Parliament sends the bill up to the French Senate and the Senate tears it up], thanks to Najat, and I feel cold at the thought of going to any country where prostitution is illegal, even if I hardly ever indulge these days. It’s nice to know it’s there if you want it. Incredible to think that France of all countries, the country of Nana and Olimpia and the wonderful art nouveau Paris brothels of legend, should actually be making prostitution illegal. It is quite mind-blowing. Denmark didn’t even make BESTIALITY illegal till last month. The Great Danes, as I call them.

I was quite unfair actually

I was quite unfair actually; you do see lots of trees as you cut across Kent on the way to the Channel Tunnel. It is very beautiful scenery; lots of trees, and great fields of yellow I-don’t-know-whats; and fields of cows and sheep as well; don’t see many of them in Germany and Austria. Back to Brussels again then but this time I travel thinking of drinking and eating as the main delights; and reading my paper; and any visits to the naughty places will be brief and perfunctory; and this time with the added delight of staying in the Ibis over the road from the Eurostar terminal—if I can get across that appalling road in one piece. A crossing like that would simply not be allowed in London. Although I hear they are on the verge of making the whole of central Brussels a car-free pedestrianised zone which seems to be going too far in the other direction.

†

Lille Europe. So this rather strange trip draws to its close

Lille Europe. So this rather strange trip draws to its close. The only good memories the new Belgian boots I bought, the couple of glimpses of the gorgeous Dorint trainee receptionist, and the last minute discovery of the happiness I feel just being around Brussels Gare du Midi like the old days.

Yes, let me re-base myself around the Ibis on my next visit

Yes, let me re-base myself around the Ibis on my next visit—the Ibis bar, the L’Orient Express bar, the chicken & chip shop next to it, only making brief visits up to Cine Paris for 10 minutes, 5^th Avenue for one drink, Le Coin for one drink; not expecting anything from them; anything good I may find treat as pleasant surprises and icing on the cake. Treating them as the be all and end all has put too much weight on them, a weight they could not sustain for long. Culturally, I will never go to the Magritte and Fin de Siecle Museums again; I must wait till Brussels comes to their senses and recombine the old Museum of Modern Art with all their treasures in one place. I will not hold my breath. Perhaps time to go on that trip to the Delvaux Museum in Saint-Idesbald and the Rops Museum in Namur. Already I am looking forward to coming back to Brussels! But it is the Ibis bar, the Orient Express and the chicken & chip shop that I am looking forward to! Not the naughty places! I just wonder what else I will discover missing when I get home—my computer? My passport? My sense of decency & integrity? No, never that!

One of the emptiest Eurostars I have ever been on

One of the emptiest Eurostars I have ever been on—the last service, 1952, on a Tuesday night. I will try to get this again. So I lost my faith in travel in Vienna, then regained it in Brussels, then lost it again as I got on my Eurostar and found my notes lost, then regained it again when I found them at the last moments under the train. This is how precarious my faith in travel is right now. I feel someone is trying to tell me something. I have never lost my Eurostar tickets before; I have never lost my notes before. Sign that the amount of alcohol I am drinking is now really atrophying my brain? Or the gods playing tricks on me? Or my sub-conscious trying to tell me something.

The most incredible thing

The most incredible thing: I boarded the Eurostar and got to my seat and went to get out my writing paper, all my notes from my trip and find they are gone. I searched my pockets, my bag; not there. I know I put them in my trouser pocket so they must have fallen out. I try to retrace my way along the platform, no sign, and I am not allowed to go back down, and there is no time now anyway, just  4 minutes before the train departs. In despair, I accept defeat and hurriedly head back to my carriage. Not having time to get to my door I get on the previous door—but there down on the stones under the train are my papers. I got on the train at that door to check if my seat was this end or the other, and seeing it was the other, immediately got off and went to the next door; at this point my papers must have been pulled from my pocket by my bag and dropped to the tracks. You’d think the people behind me would have noticed and alerted me but no. But what miracle that I should re-board the train by this “wrong” door  and so see the papers! What is wrong with me? Honestly? I had to ask one of the security guards to climb down onto the track to retrieve my papers. Incredible lunacy! Surreal farce! First my lost Eurostar tickets, now this!

The traffic in the road outside the Orient Express

The traffic in the road outside the Orient Express and Ibis is so crazy I fear for my life; I usually just hang back by the wall until I see a couple of other people cross, and then just hurriedly run across with them. #sensible. It’s like a motorway this road. Like the Belgian Grand Prix at Spa. At the eleventh hour my faith in travelling is restored.

Blazing warm skies here in Brussels

Blazing warm skies here in Brussels, as they were all the way from Vienna. Not a cloud in the sky. Obviously, for me, horrible. I now look forward to staying a few days here in Brussels on the way to Berlin, whenever that will be. It will have to be a couple of months; my finances are in red alert now. Need at least TWO payslips to get back over water.

Another thing that hits you when you arrive back in Brussels

Another thing that hits you when you arrive back in Brussels is the black faces all around you; you don’t see many of them in Vienna. And the huge-breasted black women. I do the L’Orient Express a disservice: as well as the trompe l’oeil bookcase doors at the back, they do indeed have some small shelves with real books; Norman Mailer’s Les Nus et Lus Morts II, and I, Emmanuel Robles La Croisier, Henri Thojat La Tete sur les Epaules, Collected Volumes of La Faure, a huge number of Frank G Slaughter books, and many many more; needless to say I have heard of none of the names I mention, except Norman Mailer. A really nice looking bar; and directly next door is the restaurant where I enjoyed a lovely chicken & chips on my way through here 5 days ago. Oh! I want to stay now! Forget about expecting anything from Fifth, Cine Paris or Le Coin, just drop in briefly, but spend most of my time around the Ibis like once before, in the Ibis bar, or the Orient Express, in the chicken & chip restaurant, or just walking around Gare du Midi luxuriating in the sexy girls. Vienna I think has to be over for a long while; at least a year I expect. For some bizarre reason the chicken & chip shop seems closed; the lights are on and the board is outside but the door closed; now I notice the board has gone too. 630 in the evening this should be their busy time. I was just going to praise the Orient Express for playing music videos on the TV but the manager has left the fruit machine long enough to change the channel to some talking programme.

How funny arriving back in Brussels

How funny, arriving back in Brussels has kind of instantly rekindled my faith in travelling. Delighted I didn’t have to pay a fortune to buy another Eurostar ticket, enjoying the sexy girls in the Gare du Midi, loving the beautiful Orient Express bar. Twenty past six, on my second small Jupiler, another hour to kill before I cross back over to Midi; I actually fear crossing the road again; it really scares me. Same as last time there is a gentleman standing at the fruit machine just slapping the buttons aggressively and obsessively; he looks like the owner, as he does not drink or eat; he looks a bit like Louis Van Gaal but don’t think he is. Slap-slap-slap, the bar staff must get sick of listening to it.