Zoe Adieu. Rihanna Love on the Brain. Again reward for doing something DIFFERENT? By taking that long walk down to Le Coin yesterday I have revolutionised my future trips to Brussels (perhaps)

Zoe Adieu. Rihanna Love on the Brain. Again, reward for doing something DIFFERENT? By taking that long walk down to Le Coin yesterday I have revolutionised my future trips to Brussels (perhaps). The old Gare du Midi nexus suddenly regains pre-eminence over the Max Nexus. More than anything I look forward to getting back to the good honest butt-naked knickerless strippers of London. Topless only strip clubs are an abomination, and I take them as a personal insult. Joe Dassin Et Si tu n’existais pas. That song I only heard in Empire’s topless only strip club here in Brussels.
Advertisements

The wonderful eroticism of Le Coin yesterday makes me want to come back for an extended stay in Brussels again—basing myself down by the Gare du Midi this time

The wonderful eroticism of Le Coin yesterday makes me want to come back for an extended stay in Brussels again—basing myself down by the Gare du Midi this time. I was unkind for saying it had the atmosphere of a greasy spoon café. It has got lots of vases of flowers, lots of PAINTINGS of vases of flowers on the walls, a wonderful dark brown painting of some river surrounded by ferns and palm trees, and lovely dark brown wood panels, and unusual kind of trestle-type lamps suspended from the ceiling, all of which gives it a rather Bavarian, Munich feel; a real Carmina Burana feel! I’m talking myself into going back again before I leave, aren’t I! I suppose if I just went in for the last hour and just had a few beers, that would not be that expensive!

I enjoyed my brief stay back in the Café du Dome yesterday—just for 2 Stellas

I enjoyed my brief stay back in the Café du Dome yesterday—just for 2 Stellas, then after my first Cine Paris session (with several more beers, which is when the manager first started to get funny with me) I cut down Rue St Michel, across the Place des Martyrs, along the Rue d’Argent (I LOVE Brussels street names), up Wolvengracht, up Stormstraat and there once again to the Rue de la Montagne, where Baudelaire stayed in his famous Hôtel du Grand Miroir. This time I walked down the whole road but still could not see the plaque. Anyway I must surely have passed the spot where the Miroir once stood {yes, the Maison du Notaires], and that is good enough for me. Then on the spur of the moment I decided I WOULD press on all the way down to Le Coin—so down Zuidstraat I went, through the Place Rouppe—where Verlaine attacked Rimbaud for a second time! They had patched things up after Verlaine had shot Rimbaud the first time, and now Verlaine was accompanying Rimbaud down to Gare du Midi to bid him farewell as he left for Paris, when Verlaine’s jealousy got the better of him again and he attacked Rimbaud again! It was only after this second attack that Verlaine was arrested, convicted and sent to prison. I carried on to Le Coin and had that extraordinary surprise of so many gorgeous big, big curvy women.

Well the world’s been turned on its head—Le Coin was better than Fifth Avenue

Well, the world’s been turned on its head—Le Coin was better than Fifth Avenue. Four gorgeous voluptuous girls—I would have liked all four of them but by now I was too drunk and I only had 70 euros left—the exact cut 20 to house, and 50 to girl. One more beer and that was it, too late. Suddenly I think in future I will stay in the IBIS again, rather than the Max!

The only regret I have about not going to the Empire strip club last night (topless only strip clubs always easy to resist) is I didn’t get to hear some lovely loud pounding music

The only regret I have about not going to the Empire strip club last night (topless only strip clubs always easy to resist) is I didn’t get to hear some lovely loud pounding music, just to be in that atmosphere of a crowded (hopefully) strip club on a Saturday night. But honestly with each tiny bottle of beer (25ml) costing 10 euros—that’s like £8 for half a pint?—it is not worth it. In BFYB terms (Bang for your Buck) the Cine Paris and Fifth Avenue are all I could really recommend—apart from the Rue d’Aerschot window girls of course; if that environment turns you on (I’m afraid it doesn’t for me). There is Le Coin of course, a downmarket cousin of Fifth Avenue, down at bottom end of Terre Neuve not far from Gare du Midi, but its bland greasy spoon café atmosphere turns me off as well. And Cine ABC gone a long time ago of course, heartbreakingly, along with the next door California videokabins, which were really good if memory serves me right.

Sweating like a little piggy, sweat running off my face, back in L’Orient Express

Sweating like a little piggy (even though I know, I know, pigs can’t actually sweat), sweat running off my face, back in L’Orient Express. 110pm. Hour & a quarter till my train to Nuremberg. I had the idea to leave my big bag in the Max Hotel locker and just travel to Nuremberg with a little bag of essentials. This gave me the freedom to WALK down to Le Coin and Midi. The usual tubby Moroccan girls, all pretty, lurid, with little paunchy stomachs, which is no problem for me; but I don’t think I will EVER do anything here. Just one beer and I was off again. I should have booked an earlier train—this is pointless this wasted 3 hours. Just drinking for nothing.