So great lover another trip where you did nothing

So, great lover, another trip where you did nothing, never even saw a naked woman. There is really no benefit to me staying in the Ibis anymore. Now with my improved finances I should be able to allow myself a Brussels trip every couple of months; but oh, when am I going to try Amsterdam? Hamburg? And February is set for Vienna. Sexy AF black-haired girl at Eurostar terminal in front of me in the queue. 19 perhaps, pink sweater with cartoon figure on front, blue cut-off denim shorts, over black leggings. Sexy AF. Curvy AF. Even from quite a distance apart our eyes met. Is eye contact across a crowded room ever really accidental?

After Brussels Grill a brief stop in Ciné Paris and the Marc Dorcel channel is now playing downstairs rather than upstairs

After Brussels Grill, a brief stop in Ciné Paris, and the Marc Dorcel channel is now playing downstairs rather than upstairs. A very beautiful brunette bob girl in the one scene I saw; but with no credits at the end I could not see her name. Next scene was rubbish, so I pushed on to Fifth. There were NO girls on show when I walked in! At least a dozen men but no girls whatsoever. Saturday nights at Fifth are the worst nights to come. Soon enough three or four of Maria’s crew turned up, then the three Kylie Jenners, but the middle one (the best one) was taken to a room as soon as she got there and never reappeared. She must have got a right good seeing to. And that was it. I hung on until after 7 hoping the South Sea Islanders would turn up but then had to give up. Not being able to face that hideous long walk back again, I broke my prohibition and got the metro down to Midi. A packed metro carriage of course, but as I stood by the door there in the seats under me as it were was the most beautiful girl I had seen for a very long time. Some office girl perhaps, dressed smart, brown hair flat on top but all frizzy and curly down the sides like something out of a Klimt painting. Light green coat, black leggings, breathtakingly beautiful. Out of the corner of her eyes I think she knew I was looking. When I got off at Midi she stayed on, but seeing her was the best moment of the whole trip. The kind of woman you remember for your whole life. Grabbed a Bernie’s burger & fries, then back to hotel to eat and pass out. Woke 550AM, checked out 11.

356. In the Brouckère Brussels Grill

356. In the Brouckère Brussels Grill. Waiting to give my order. All the bars of Brussels packed; plenty to check on my next trip. No Buster Keaton on the Brussels Grill TV this time. Some Fashion TV channel. After a Ciné Paris stopover, I expect I will be in Fifth Avenue by 5, and my last chance to get my end away on this trip. But only if I see someone SPECTACULAR. And my next trip? Wait for the February Vienna trip I expect. It seems no bread & butter for me here. So many bars on the way up, as I say, and not only were they all pretty packed (being a Saturday) but I want to abstain from any more drinking until I reach Fifth. I will TRY to have a beer in the Ibis bar on the way back from Fifth, just to look for that massive-knockered bar manager again. 405 now; I want my steak. I will try to get an English paper from outside Waterstone’s on the way up to Fifth, or Midi later, on the final way home. Momentous events truly are happening now. At that point, I can’t even read my own handwriting, even after just writing it. 411, quite a long wait to be honest. But, ah, they have to cook it don’t they.

The Moroccan barmaid here in Santana

The Moroccan barmaid here in Santana, very nice bottom, not fat but nice. Black really tight trousers, black vest over the lacy bra, black cardigan. Dark blonde hair. Ah I like it here, but I like everywhere that has beer don’t I. But better to drink beer surrounded by floozies so I push on to Fifth. 323 only. Too early as always. I’d hoped for a big finish to my year and to my Brussels 17-19 book but I don’t think it is going to happen. Oh, I could stay in Brussels forever. I could live here quite happily. Very strange North African music now playing here in the Santana bar, and I love it.

Well Le Coin was bit of a disaster but sub-consciously I knew I didn’t really want to go there

Well, Le Coin was bit of a disaster, but sub-consciously I knew I didn’t really want to go there (despite me coming back to Brussels especially for it, and even more staying in the Ibis Gare du Midi for it). I think I can’t get the visual memory of the South Sea Island Fifth girl from my mind. She is the one I want next. In the lovely Santana Bar now, on the corner of Place Rouppe, one of my holy places in Brussels (where Verlaine tried to shoot Rimbaud for a second time; and for this outrage he was imprisoned). Ah, Le Coin—what I was going to say—got my Jupiler and seeing Christy greeted her with a smile and “hi!”, but within two minutes some man quickly took her upstairs, so that resolved that particular tension/opportunity. Then this Algerian next to me started to explain to me his theory about, well, I’m not exactly clear about what. His obsession seemed to revolve around the number “79”, and the concept of passing time, and 8 is nothing but 7 is very significant, and he wanted to be remembered as a “good” person, not a “bad” person. Half-suspecting these were his last words before he killed me with a knife and cut my head off, I left after just my one beer, and so, here I am, in the Santana. If I sleep with Christy again, it will be in some far future time. I realise now: I have scratched that itch. I have lanced that boil. And that is how my sexuality is. 315PM. The Santana very nicely decorated for Christmas.

Of course the Ibis can still be a place for staying if I’m just stopping off for one night on my way to Vienna

Of course, the Ibis can still be a place for staying, if I’m just stopping off for one night on my way to Vienna or somewhere the next day. It saves the 30 euros the taxi to & from the Max would cost. But—with the wonderful rebirth of night trains in Europe (I hear) it may be I’ll be getting Eurostar to Brussels and then straight onto the night train to Vienna when I go there next. 81 Marius Renard. No interest to do anything in Le Coin today. Couple of Jupilers, ogle lovely Christy, then after a Brussels Grill Brouckere for steak, Café Paris, then to Fifth Avenue. The fact is I just love DRINKING in a bar full of floozies. No real need to do anything with them, except in exceptional circumstances. You never know who is going to walk in the door.

Just asked the bar lady for a third large Stella

Just asked the bar lady for a third large Stella. She said nothing at all, just raised her eyebrows for a few seconds, then wordlessly went to pour it. Three large Stellas is not so excessive, surely? This is only the START of my day. I’ll be going to at least two other bars after this, plus a can or two in the porn cinema. Halfway through my third large Stella and only 2PM. Will I or will I not have sexual relations on this, my final trip to Brussels of the year, and indeed of the whole 17-19 period? I have, after all, made one pilgrimage on this trip to the site of the hotel Van Gogh stayed in while living in Brussels, 72 Boulevard du Midi (only as it was about 50 yards from Le Coin, ha ha). Let my book Brussels in the Years of Recapitalisation be the standard work on whoring in Brussels in the years 2017-19. With almost no mention of the voluminous window girls of the Rue d’Aerschot. Sitting in Fifth Avenue last night, however quiet it was, I did think to myself “I’ve NO desire for Rue d’Aerschot.”

I think my sightseeing in Brussels should confine itself to places inside the Pentagon

I think my sightseeing in Brussels should confine itself to places inside the Pentagon. As much as I’d like to go to Solvay Park, and the Space Egg and the Wiertz Museum, they are awfully far to walk to (now I abstain from the Metro). Especially when I’m only here on these short two-night trips like now. If I was here for a week, OK. But on a short trip let me concentrate on the Holy Trinity—Le Coin, Ciné Paris and Fifth Avenue. Chelsea Dagger playing here in the Ibis bar—lovely. Just walking from the top of the Pentagon to the bottom (Fifth Avenue back to Ibis) was long enough! I really do not want to submit myself to anything longer on this trip; maybe in Summer. My chief explorations must be the same as always—sexual, and philosophical.

So many black people use this Ibis bar

So many black people use this Ibis bar. Eight other people in the bar with me now and all black; and being in Brussels this probably means from Congo (or of Congolese descent, at least). Inevitably reminded then, of course, of the epic moment (again from THE COLD ICY AIR OF THE MOUNTAINS/Stephanie days) when that Congolese man in the Ibis lavatories showed me his absolutely prodigious cock—still the largest cock I have ever set eyes on in the flesh. Yes, I doubt I will do anything with Christy, I prefer to drink & drink & drink and ogle the floozies while I’m doing it. Very rare I am sufficiently moved to do anything. Oh, but I would so much like to see that South Sea Island girl this afternoon. Having started drinking earlier today, I expect I will be blotto even sooner so little chance. 81 Montgomery. I’ve said it before, I love the place names in Brussels, and the street names. Montgomery. Churchill. Avenue Baldwin. Avenue Victoria Regina. 82 Droglos Chateau. Drogenloos.

I did not even go to Ciné Paris yesterday

I did not even go to Ciné Paris yesterday; I will put that right today. Loving sitting here in the corner seat of the Ibis bar, looking across the bar into the reception area, as I used to do back in Stephanie’s day (THE COLD ICY AIR OF THE MOUNTAINS). Turning on my TV at 5AM I discovered there IS a music channel on my TV! W9—but only during the night. By 9AM it had turned into a shopping channel instead. Shame. An improvement on the Max’s awful C17 music channel anyway. I have returned to the stool at the bar. From this higher elevation I can properly see the buses & trams coming in & out of the station. Much better. When I started travelling, I used to write down all my philosophical thoughts on life and the universe; now I write about which chair I’m sitting in. But, like I said, I want to record my life in minute detail. I will leave here soon and start my trek across Brussels in Le Coin but I doubt whether I will do anything with Christy again. Really, however amazingly sexy & gorgeous a girl is, I only ever want to sleep with her once. After that, I’m just thinking “who next?”

So Friday in Brussels

So, Friday in Brussels. Left the Ibis and got to Le Coin about 3. Sat with the one who I thought was Christy’s big sister, but now I realise is not. Christina, from Bulgaria (Christy being from Albania). Again these were the only two girls of any attraction for me. Three or four bottles of Jupiler, a coffee for Christina, then I was on my way straight up to Fifth Avenue. No one of any special note—sad to not see Sophia. The middle Kylie Jenner sister still looks so cute, and then, curses, just before I left around 7, one of the South Sea Islander Brazilians arrived, looking fantastic in heavy make-up and sparkling silver short dress. I fancied her so much but I was really blotto so had to leave. My timing is nearly always wrong in this place. And then, as I said, that appalling long walk back. Now I know I will NOT being staying in the Ibis again, as much as I love it.

Well now I know why I stopped staying in the Ibis

Well, now I know why I stopped staying in the Ibis—the walk back from Fifth Avenue last night, totally blotto, totally tired (perhaps 27 hours without sleep), totally desperate just to grab some foor then pass out in bed, the walk back down the long avenue seemed longer than I ever remembered it. It was excruciating. I was swearing out loud to myself all the way. I was so angry. Being so tired and so drunk of course only increased my anger. 1232 my first beer of the day down in the Ibis bar—the Brasserie de la Senne? Fifty minutes earlier than yesterday. Oh, this one is lovely and cold. Finally reaching Midi station I grabbed a burger & chips and back to the hotel with it. Next thing I knew I was waking up 450 in the morning. So there went my determination to go to Empire strip club on Friday night. Try again tonight, perhaps, but being so far away from my hotel makes it less likely than ever. We will see.

Where Van Gogh lived when in Brussels

Brussels dry now

Brussels dry now; I missed all the rain this morning. No more forecast until late Saturday evening. I will look forward to that. 236PM on my third large Stella in the Ibis bar—only one other table occupied by a group of three. Still no sign of big girl behind bar.

At home I have erotic pornographic fantasies of what I am going to get up to as soon as I get to Brussels

At home I have erotic pornographic fantasies of what I am going to get up to as soon as I get to Brussels, or Vienna, or wherever, but when I get here my usual reticence and reluctance takes over. Brasserie de la Senne says the beermat (the Senne being the river that used to run through the centre of Brussels, now covered over by roads, and commemorated by so many of the roads bearing names like Pont or Quai to remind you what is invisibly under your feet)—is that the name of the bar now? It was the Café Belge when I first used to come here. Oh, Nephania. Little Nephania. The college girl who came to my room with me (briefly; chastely). 202PM—literally waiting fifteen minutes for my second beer. This is not impressive—but I persevere: because I need to drink to get me started, and I don’t know where she’s gone, but I need to see that bargirl again. Oh God still waiting but now Gaga’s Bad Romance comes on the bar radio. Ah after 17 minutes I get my second beer, big girl delivered it, then vanished again. Feel naked wearing just a T-shirt (and trousers). Bring a jumper next time. Not necessary when staying in the Max but obviously is in the Ibis (I now realise). So 215 already—on my second large Stella. Will of course be pickled by the time I get to Le Coin—by 3? By time I get up to Fifth Avenue (via Ciné Paris) it should be 430-5ish. Perfect time. Let me use today as recon, to see if the two “sisters” are still at Le Coin, then decide tomorrow if I shall indulge again. Just a real pleasure to be back in the Ibis again.

Christ here I am again—in my corner seat of the Ibis

Christ, here I am again—in my corner seat of the Ibis, watching the trams & buses rolling in & out of Gare du Midi station. The memories. Back then I did not know of Le Coin, or Fifth Avenue, or even Ciné Paris. Incredible to think all that time I used to spend in Brussels, the only jollies I ever got here were in the Rue d’Aerschot. What I was missing out on!

Back in my lovely Ibis Gare du Midi and my lovely old arched bedroom again!

Back in my lovely Ibis Gare du Midi and my lovely old arched bedroom again! Such strong visceral memories being back here, where I stayed in all of my first twenty or more stays in Brussels. Quick shower then down to the bar by 120PM. Bad start—Stella beer tap empty and chap covering the bar doesn’t normally work in bar and is not sure what to do. But they have a lovely corner table for me to sit at again. The Ibis lobby and bar has undergone a major renovation—more comfortable now. Soft browns & blues. Oh Christ the proper barmaid has arrived, frizzy blonde bob and massive knockers in tight white T-shirt! I will be here a long, long time now. Remember her from my last stay I’m sure, but don’t remember them being THAT huge. Beer warm—as it’s a new barrel I guess.

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What a pleasure

What a pleasure. Speeding across northern France on Eurostar listening to BBC’s In Our Time episode on “Napoleon’s Retreat from Moscow”.

From Le Coin I stumbled back to Fifth Avenue

From Le Coin I stumbled back to Fifth Avenue (giving Christy 10 euros on my way out of Coin for being so sweet) but again there was no one I fancied. A giant Domino’s Pizza then out like a light. I really wanted to go back to Ciné Paris as the films I had left had been so good and I lay there thinking about it, but next thing I knew it was 2 in the morning and I was lying there with my contact lenses still in, stuck to my eyeballs of course. Lenses out, and back to sleep. So a low-key trip (i.e. no sex) and I was happy to leave it for the rest of the year, but now I wonder if I can find a not too expensive Eurostar in December and come back for a last hurrah. Finally do that long walk to Solvay Park.

829AM waiting for boarding to start on my Eurostar home

829AM waiting for boarding to start on my Eurostar home. I did not do anything in Le Coin but I had a fun ten minutes with Christy sitting beside me and letting me hold her hand on top of my bulging cock, much to the amusement of her friend (another Albanian) sitting opposite me. They were particularly amused when I inquired as to where the big brown painting of a river was set. But she told me she finished at 5 and it was now 20 to 5 and I was of course cold with drink so I released her, but a pleasant ten minutes or so. Only after she moved back to her seat by the window and was talking to the man who came in selling clothes, did I realise who it was she so strongly reminded me of—of course it was T— from Greece, at the Garrick Arms! Just a more voluptuous version of T— from Greece, but the same face, and, I now realised, exactly the same voice. They could have been sisters. I am very fond of Christy—I was thinking I will have to try and stay at the Ibis Midi on my next visit so I then I am just a short walk away from Le Coin and I can get there not so drunk. Perhaps, after all, one more Brussels trip before Christmas! Christy informed me that her beautiful black & gold blouse was from Albania, her pussy from Albania, her left breast from Albania but her right breast from Brussels, “ici!”. A lovely girl.

Oh and then right next to it an even lovelier bar

Oh, and then right next to it, an even lovelier bar, Santana, with a curvy Moroccan barmaid and innumerable paintings on the walls. Jupiler 2,20. And just beginning on the jukebox as I walk in—the modern classic Billie Eilish Bad Guy. Every so often a song like this comes along—instant classic. Honestly lost all interest in reaching Le Coin now; this bar and this barmaid are very lovely. Beautiful wall lamps, beautiful paintings, beautiful barmaid, 2,20 Jupilers—what a lovely bar. I will be here again. The value, as always, of trying new places. Invigorating. Thrilling. Dua Lipa “New Rules”. The beautiful barmaid has turned the lights down now. Even lovelier. Ah, now she’s lighting all the candles on the tables. R Duval? I want to see D— again.

Heading to Le Coin yes but I will be so totally anaesthetised and cold with drink it will be pointless

Heading to Le Coin, yes, but I will be so totally anaesthetised and cold with drink it will be pointless; even more when I get back up to Fifth Avenue later. Never mind. I like looking at the floozies more than doing anything. (Placebo Big Girls Don’t Cry on the jukebox). Ah, the barmaid just came by me to close the door that was stuck ajar—sexy beauty in blue jeans—her perfume now completely enveloping me even though she has returned behind the bar. This is the worth of coming on this pub crawl. Just to be enveloped in a barmaid’s perfume is so, so sexy.

After an enjoyable two-beer session in Ciné Paris watching the Marc Dorcel TV upstairs I decide to head down to Le Coin on a pub crawl

After an enjoyable two-beer session in Ciné Paris watching the Marc Dorcel TV upstairs, I decide to head down to Le Coin on a pub crawl. So after a small beer in a packed Celtica (all teenagers, about 60 of them or more) here I am in the Café Bebo in Place Rouppe, one of my Holy of Holies sites in Brussels, where Verlaine tried to shoot Rimbaud for a second time, and it was this that let to Verlaine’s imprisonment. A nice cold Cavée des Trolls. How learning about the history of a city increases your pleasure, and Brussels is so absolutely packed with it. To think I, little me, am in the same square where Verlaine and Rimbaud were 136 years ago. How exhilarating. One day people will come here and say “Here am I, where the great Ernst Graf was drinking a glass of Cavée des Trolls!”

1257PM. My first beer of the day

1257PM. My first beer of the day. Just starting to rain as I write these words. Should be quite an afternoon of showers. Second morning of my latest two-day stay here in Brussels. Having vowed to finally spend more time in Ciné Paris the films yesterday were of course rubbish. Upstairs now just seems to be permanent rolling Marc Dorcel TV and downstairs rolling American porn channel, either Brazzers TV or Hustlers TV. As I have said before, American porn is the worst in the world (excepting British only). If there was a Top 20 for porn film producing countries, America would be No.19 and GB No.20. So so unsexy, unarousing. The men fuck the girls like they don’t even like women, whereas in European porn you feel the women are worshipped. Not the weather for people watching, really, so I shall return to my room shortly, to prepare to go out—to Ciné Paris and Coin or Ciné Paris and the long sightseeing walk to Space Egg and Solvay Park that I have been threatening to do all year. Fifth Avenue was also poor—not one single viable option for me. I will try again later.

**********

Happy birthday to myself

Happy birthday to myself. The usual horrific Flixbus journey to get me home. Don’t even want to talk about it. My last day in Brussels—an hour or so in Ciné Paris, good Marc Dorcel upstairs—schoolgirls Orgy for Lucy with Tiffany Doll, then to Fifth. Sophia was there but two men took her up to the room one after the other, and I could not wait any longer. Domino’s Pizza then bed. Up early for the 705AM coach journey home. As always, the overwhelming thought—I should have spent more time in Ciné Paris.

It will be nice to see Coin Christy again and her “sister” I cannot deny

It will be nice to see Coin Christy again, and her “sister”, I cannot deny. Depends how I feel when I leave Ciné Paris in a little while. Oh my, just saw one of the Fifth Avenue girls coming from Rue des Malines and under my window. One wonders if she spent the night at someone’s hotel and is now heading back home, on the “walk of shame”. Did not see her at Fifth last night, however, nor on my last trip last week. The other girl of interest at Fifth right now is a black girl with very large bosoms, on prominent display. Another possible.

The fabulous curvy Brussels girls already passing below my Max window

The fabulous curvy Brussels girls already passing below my Max window; even swaddled in their winter clothes their voluptuous buttocks pressing magnificently against their tight trousers. Sitting in Fifth Avenue I was even wondering if it would be possible to LIVE in Brussels, just staying in a cheap little hostel for the duration of my four nights at work each week, but as I work more than I am off that would be rather silly, I suppose.

Grey and cold in Brussels but no rain

Grey and cold in Brussels but no rain, and none predicted. Leaving Fifth last night, I stopped off in Domino’s Pizza to order my small pizza and popped next door to Carrefour to buy a bar of chocolate and behind the counter was the most stunningly beautiful black-haired Moroccan girl. I will go back later to look for her as well. It was her and the yellow-top L’Entrachte girl I was thinking about in bed this morning, if you know what I mean, as well as the South Sea Island girls and the middle Kylie Jenner. How wonderful just to meet four women that rouse me this much. That in itself makes the trip worthwhile.

Leaving the hotel around 6PM I cut along Rue des Malines on my way to Fifth Avenue

Leaving the hotel around 6PM I cut along Rue des Malines on my way to Fifth Avenue. The old DM café was shut down but next to it L’Entrachte has been reopened in garish phosphorescently bright blandness, behind the bar there was a beautiful young blonde girl in tight yellow sweater over huge bosoms—like that woman out of Mad Men. I actually doubled back and crossed over to go in, but realising I was already quite late for Fifth, I pressed on, meaning to try again later. Later, however, I passed it two or three times more but never saw her behind the bar so did not go in. I shall try again later. Fifth busy with men and girls—the pick of them the three Bulgarian Kylie Jenners I saw last time, and the three “South Sea Island” Brazilians. The middle Jenner i.e the younger of the two who really looked like Kylie Jenner (the third one did not really) was the pick of them and we exchanged many looks & grins. Not only a Kylie Jenner, she had the look of a young Anna Polina. She was chewing gum like a teenager and she looked the type who will be mean and unsympatico once in the room. Not taking her bra off, not allowing kissing, that kind of thing, which deters me (a bit). The pick of the three South Sea Islanders would be warmer, more generous, sympatico I am sure. I will return later afternoon today to think about it again. I am not sure if I can face that long long walk down to Le Coin again today. Maybe I will try the Rue d’Aerschot again (with little enthusiasm). Still I put off the long walk to Space Egg/Solvay Park/Wiertz Museum.

Arriving at Midi I got a taxi up to Hotel Manhattan which took me along the most complicated involved route I have ever taken

Arriving at Midi I got a taxi up to Hotel Manhattan, which took me along the most complicated involved route I have ever taken. If I had asked the driver “Please take me to the Hotel Manhattan, my good man, by the most COMPLICATED route you possibly can, will you? And I am an Englishman so no funny business” then this would have been the result. Time only for a quick Red Bull and quick beer in my appallingly old-looking room. I was frightened to open the wardrobe in case there was a dead body in it. Around 640AM this morning it sounded like a gunshot from further along the corridor. I had a room with four single beds, and after entering by one door I was surprised to observe another door at the distant far end of the room which opened into another corridor on the other side. The architecture of the place is actually really interesting, so many strange little corridors and nooks and crannies, like something out of a horror film. If some company closed it for a year and spent 20 million renovating it into a modern hotel it would be quite an amazing place to stay.

The Hotel Manhattan was the oldest shabbiest hotel I have stayed in for many many years

The Hotel Manhattan was the oldest, shabbiest hotel I have stayed in for many, many years; perhaps ever. I was forced there last night as the Max was fully booked. Now here I am back in the Max, 1115AM, back where I belong. On my first beer of the day, which I think is a mistake, as it is far too early. I shall return soon to my room and go back to bed to work on my books for a while. So—the journey. The coach journey from Victoria was quite the most pleasant coach journey to Brussels I have ever had; and the best driver. He kept us fully informed at all stages of the journey—a great improvement on the retard Flixbus driver I endured last time. This one I booked through National Express but the coach itself was operated by OuiBus, and in fact at our arrival in Brussels the driver said “thank you travelling with us, on behalf of OuiBus and BlaBlaBla”. It is a tangled web. We were ahead of schedule as well—arriving at Midi around 440PM rather than the predicted 530. As soon as we set off from Victoria, I thought “Wow! This is actually OK! Cheap coach journeys to Brussels can become my regular method of travel!” The coach home, however, leaves at a painful 730AM, so we will see how I cope with that, and that is Flixbus again, ominously.

**********

Two large Jupilers, two small—already no point returning to Le Coin before going home

Two large Jupilers, two small—already no point returning to Le Coin before going home. Ciné Paris only then. But presuming they open at 12, still 1155 is too early. Wish I could stay in Brussels forever. Memories of this short trip? How ugly I looked Thursday night. Christy at Le Coin. How many very sexy girls there were at Fifth Friday night. Not bad for just two nights. All positive memories. I left my scarf in Le Coin but never mind. 1158. Brussels has become my home from home in the most wonderful way. So let me be the English chronicler of Brussels. The chronicler of certain parts of Brussels anyway.

And that is Brussels for me isn’t it?

And that is Brussels for me, isn’t it? Ciné Paris, Fifth Avenue and Le Coin. Occasional nightcaps in the topless only strip club Empire, and the sightseeing pilgrimages to various places. But it is enough. Because London does not have a Ciné Paris (anymore), a Fifth Avenue or a Le Coin. That is why I leave London and come to Brussels at every opportunity. And without these two sisters, even Le Coin would be pointless. Funny, when there yesterday, the only customers other than me were old Moroccan goats. Moroccan men 40-90. They seem to be 90% of the clientele. A young English boy like myself is quite a rarity. Fifth for sure has lots of Moroccan men, but younger, and so many more white Belgians, Belgian Belgians as it were. I am not criticising one way or the other, just simply stating my observation.

Christ I love Brussels

Christ, I love Brussels. I never want to leave. So yes, Le Coin had two stars, two sisters I am sure, but that was all. Bear this in mind. And she said she’d only been there two months so be cautious about putting too much importance on Le Coin rather than Fifth. Without those two it would have been a really long and wasted walk.

Friday then

Friday then, little session in Ciné Paris, again the films upstairs were the better ones, but soon on my way for the long walk down to Le Coin. Direct this time, with no diversions, and therefore no getting furiously disastrously lost. The same two stars—they look like sisters I now realise. One slightly slimmer, and slightly shorter blonde hair. After SEVERAL 25cl bottles of Jupiler, I finally give the nod to the slimmer one and finally the Rubicon was crossed. My first time in a Le Coin bedroom. Christy from Albania, absolutely beautiful, absolutely lovely. Completely naked, never said no to anything, a proper “girlfriend experience” as they say in the trade. Of course I was so benumbed by beer I got no real pleasure out of it whatsoever bar the visual. 23 to the house, 50 to the girl, and I added 20 for her sweetness and patience. Then the long walk back up to Fifth, but by now I was feeling “metallic”. This is how I feel when my veins are so filled with cold beer. Therefore I stopped off in De Brouckère Brussels Grill for a customarily gorgeous steak, then waddled off once more in the direction of Fifth. Packed with men and girls, and several several gorgeous sexy girls. Fifth Avenue lives. Unfortunately, however, I was so blown out by the steak (and several hours of beer that preceded it) my chest felt like it was going to explode, my heart felt like it was about to explode. I could not seriously consider doing anything. I had to leave. Straight back to hotel and out like a light. I woke just after midnight, in good time for my Friday night planned visit to Empire, but no, I just wanted to stay in my big white bed, so I did. 1124AM Saturday morning now. I wait for Ciné Paris to open (if it has not already). Probably I need to be in my taxi by 145 at the latest.