Most people are Blood Type O, or A, or whatever it is; I think they would list me at various times as Blood Type Jupiler, or Blood Type Maes. Blood Type Fosters. The presence of alcohol in my blood is probably almost constant, even though, thanks to work, I do always go 4 or 5 days at a time without any consumption. The trouble comes from my excessive indulgence in my days off. It is a bit crazy; instead of sitting here in the Max Hotel lounge drinking beer, I might as well be sitting in the Cine Paris drinking beer. At least something more stimulating to look at when I am drinking. Still I delay my departure, for one more, one more.
Thankfully the presence of a McDonald’s 20 yards away has lured the American ladies away. I am only being rude jokingly; they are very pretty, and I would not mind a McDonald’s myself but am trying to be strong and stay hungry. A full stomach is the enemy of Eros and will kill any last chance I have of my erotic flame, poor little pilot light, sparking into any explosion whatsoever. Or if not explosion, at least some chance of heat. Probably though I’ll just stay here in the hotel and drink myself into a stupor. A Jupiler stupor. A Maes haze (or Maes farce, if I pronounce it correctly).
I didn’t have any carnal contact because I want to get home cheaply (my sub-conscious taking the upper hand). But now I want to extend my holiday and hope before I return home to get some carnal contact (my drink defeating my sub-conscious). Madness. This is the way I live my life. This constant battle inside me between my Eros (Devil) and my Angel (sub-conscious). 115 On my 5th, 6th, 7th, god knows what can of Jupiler of the day already. If I just forget about Eurostar, and stay another night tonight, that is just 45 euros (£38). A very small hit, in itself. As always the option of a coach home. Cheap. Cheap. Painful as f–king hell.
I am earning £–,000 a year and I’m a single man with no children, so I should be financially very comfortable—but I’m not—because of my £–000 credit card debt. Christ, its only 1140. Being too early every day is so often the bane of my holidays—although arriving at Fifth Avenue after 6 on the first night was responsible for me losing sight of the intriguing woman so quickly. 1145. What the hell am I going to do till 556 this afternoon? A marathon Cine Paris session would be fine if the films weren’t as rubbish as they are this week. Carry on drinking my cans of Jupiler in the hotel lounge is probably the cheapest option—for a while at least.
And with each can of Jupiler I finish off I become more tempted to stay—till Sunday at least, 2 more nights. Going home Sunday would set me back another £189 at least, not including spending money. There is not even anything in Brussels particularly to stay for, except it is less boring than London. And the feeling I have lived “within myself” on this 3 night trip and there is no point travelling if you are going to live “within yourself”. I’ve been so cautious and restrained, it has been pointless. NOW you hear the Jupiler talking. The Jupiler attempts to override my sub-conscious. An epic battle taking place within me—the beer vs my sub-conscious. This imminent last visit to 5th Avenue may be the deciding factor.
So this curiously sexless sojourn in Brussels nears its end. Not feeling in the mood for anything naughty at any point. Maybe too anaesthetised with lovely ice cold watery Jupiler beer; maybe too many things to do back at home making me anxious to be back and get on with them; I don’t know. A brief stop in Cine Paris, then up to Rue d’Aerschot—Marianna the pick of the windows again. Her bosoms are extraordinary. But even with her I did not feel at all tempted to stay. A Brussels Grill Steak then back to bed. 8pm now, and I try to prepare to go out again.
I feel at a bit of a loss here in Brussels on my last day. No point going to Cine Paris when I saw all the films yesterday (in 4 visits in one day). No point going to Fifth Avenue (especially early, 125pm) when I know there are no girls for me. And yet I have some natural block—I find it impossible to go up to Gare du Nord WITHOUT having first been to Cine Paris, Café Jimmy, and Fifth Avenue. Only when I have exhausted all those options do I head to Gare du Nord with some spring in my step. Talking of my step, I went a little bit mad with my shoe shopping, and bought TWO new pairs of shoes. But to be honest this has always been a dream of mine—instead of buying ONE new pair of shoes each time and then wearing them till they fall apart or stink to high heaven, to buy TWO new pairs at the same time and then be able to rotate them and give one of them a rest every day or so. And the prices now in Brussels are fantastic—business must be so bad, all the shoes I have always paid at LEAST 100 euros for are now, in these two cases, reduced to 77 and 44 euros ONLY! A fantastic price. I should buy more, before business picks up (if it ever does). Not feeling at all in the mood for anything naughty today; —hopefully the sexy girls passing the Dome windows will pump me up a little bit. Maybe better if I do head to Cine Paris first to at least turn me on a little bit. Second Stella here in the Dome. Too warm and creamy after the lovely ice cold watery Jupiler in my hotel.