About Town.

 ‘About Town’.

Cycling around town during the Corona ‘semi-lockdown’ is like a dream. 

A lot of the Cafés are doing their best to accommodate people with ‘take away’ coffee, snacks, and such, but there remains a problem when it comes to the bladder -as the Cafes cannot offer toilet facilities, and Belgium isn’t really well known for its public toilets, but I must admit living in Antwerp gives the extra advantage of being able (as a man) to legally pee against the wall of the Cathedral in one of those enclosed by a wall, ‘old-school’, pee gutters that used to be all over town (in the old days' Women never used to pee I imagine).

Cycling over the main pedestrian shopping street you see people collecting ordered items from shops (the minority) but also people just staring at closed shops like consumer junkies in ‘Cold Turkey’- or pigeons expecting to be fed, listening to the regional accents many come from out of town just to walk through the closed shopping area which seems a strange pass-time. 

It makes me think of disaster films, where you see people walking around in a daze after some aliens have been defeated by Tom Cruise. 

A daze, that is the right word, we are in a new sort of reality and haven’t had enough time yet to adapt fully to the situation. We need to get out of the house now and again to stay sane, but don’t always have the inspiration as to what to do or where to go. Antwerp- luckily- has lots of parks, yet still, we (or some of us) feel the ‘pull’ toward the center of town, only to realize that a town center has become just a place where you can ‘consume’ ‘eat drink and have some retail therapy’, take the essence of that away and it turns into a ‘concrete theme park’ of how life used to be. 

A town with no ‘hustle and bustle’ is sad, like turning up to a party only to find there is no music, dancing or alcohol. 

There is a feeling of ‘what are we supposed to do?’. For many people, weekend entertainment has become ‘going shopping’ (mostly stuff we don’t really need). So I cycled, all over town, the same thing, except in areas where the small vegetable stores are still open offering at least some form of normality. 

The Coronavirus is forcing us to ‘reset’ to think about how we fill our free time. The bicycle lanes are pretty full with all the different forms of two-wheel transport there are nowadays, not just bicycles (electric or leg-power) but also Scooters the ones you see with people on them imitating meerkats-using not one muscle and probably going fastest. Young people earning extra cash delivering food in the huge bags strapped to them, some of the bags are ‘United Nations’ blue and make me instantly think of aid workers delivering food to people stuck in their war-torn bunkers. 

Pedestrians, lots of people out ‘for a walk’, walking briskly through town getting the kilometers on the clock to stay fit, people taking photos for posterity in case we ever forget 2020. 

Then there was me, on my bicycle cycling around trying to work out some new routine in case we comedians ever get back on stage. I stopped for a coffee at my favorite Irish bar ‘An-Sibhin’, had a ‘take-away’ coffee and a short socially distanced chat with the landlord, it helped. 

The virus comes and goes, governments and ‘self-important’ politicians tell us what to do and how to do it, we comply, but the only thing that can really get us through this is human contact, despite everything we Humans, we Sapiens are ‘survivalists’ we will find a way to defeat the virus and we will adjust, shake ourselves down and ‘get on with it’.  

But we do need public toilets.

 

Lockdown Dagboek.

 Lockdown Diary. 

7:00  De wekker loopt af, ik sta op, ‘vroeg begonnen is half gewonnen’ nooit vergeten. 

7:30 Gedoucht en al aan de koffie, mijn eerste gedachte ‘Waarom ben ik om 7:00 uur opgestaan in godsnaam’. 

8:00 Samen met mijn derde tas koffie beluister ik het nieuws op de radio, ik besef dat ik alle nieuws over Corona kotsbeu ben, idem Trump - Brexit - en de meningen van iedereen die geïnterviewd wil worden ’s morgens op de radio na het nieuws van 8:00 uur. 

8:30  Ik plan mijn dag en merk dat ik weinig plannen heb, ik denk dat ik veel ga lezen vandaag. 

9:00 Mijn plan is aangevuld, ik ga wandelen en nu onmiddellijk, als ik het Coronavirus wil overleven als oudere man moet ik fit blijven, in beweging blijven, ik schrijf ‘it’s harder to hit a moving target’ op een papiertje en pin het tegen mijn prikbord. 

10:00 De wandeling viel tegen, het regende, ik besefte dat één van mijn wandelschoenen lekt. Het oorverdovende geluid van de Antwerpse ring stoorde ook, (note to self) ik zou -zelfs zonder Corona- een mondmasker moeten dragen als ik geen vuile Antwerpse lucht in mijn longen wil.

10:30 Ik worstel met de beslissing om nieuwe wandelschoenen online of in de winkel te kopen. Ik wacht met de finale beslissing, tenslotte ooit stopt het met regenen en dan zijn mijn huidige schoenen goed genoeg. 

11:00 Ik ga een uur lezen, De Knack van vorig week ligt er nog onaangeroerd, ik focus (see what I did there? ) daarop het komende uur. 

12:00 Een aantal interessante artikels uit De Knack hebben mij doen nadenken en mijn standpunten herzien. Ik ga mezelf aan ‘zelfkritiek’ onderwerpen (zodra ik tijd heb).

12:30 Lunch. Ik moet kiezen, ga ik voor een heel gezonde lunch met voedsel die mijn weerstand opbouwt en mij voorziet van al het nodige om sterk te blijven of geef ik toe aan ‘goesting’ - als inwijkeling verkies ik om mijn wil om ‘in te burgeren’ te tonen, ik ga voor ‘goesting’. 

13:30 Het is lang geleden dat ik gemediteerd heb, om een namiddag vol studie en zelfkritiek in te zetten, begin ik daarmee. 

14:45 Blijkbaar is mediteren ook goed tegen slapeloosheid, ik ben nu goed uitgerust in alle geval. 

15:00 Mails gecheckt - niets, social media gecheckt - niets en de brievenbus is ook leeg. Eindelijk kan ik nu relaxen en aan mijn -zelf opgelegde- studie ‘kortverhalen schrijven’ beginnen.

15:10 Eerst een tas thee maken, groene thee, het hoort erbij vind ik. 

16:00 De eerste opdracht van mijn ‘online cursus’ schrijven is om een ‘autobiografische fictieve’ verhaal te schrijven van niet minder dan 700 en niet meer dan 1000 woorden. Ik dacht een tegenstelling gemerkt te hebben in ‘autobiografisch’ en ‘fictief’ maar ik vergis me - een verhaal schrijven over iemand die mijn karaktertrekken heeft bedoelen ze. Hier moet ik eventjes over nadenken, ik denk dat schrijven beter ’s morgens vroeg zal lukken. 

16:30 Ik moet dringend naar de winkel, verschillende ingrediënten voor het avondmaal ontbreken, merk ik. 

17:30 Totaal gestresseerd kom ik terug van de winkel, teveel mensen, teveel mensen met maskers onder hun neus, teveel mensen die het concept van geduldig aanschuiven niet snappen en de kamillethee was op. Ik beeld mij in dat het zo moet geweest zijn vroeger in het oostblok (zonder maskers dan).

18:00 Ik begin aan het avondeten, het wordt een groenten en gebakken rijst schotel uit het boek van Jamie Oliver. Ik heb niet alle kruiden die vereist zijn, maar ik improviseer. 

19:00 Ik maak een lijst van kruiden die ik morgen moet halen in de winkel, terwijl ik water drink, veel water, het eten was lekker maar pikant. 

19:30 ik ga mijn eten laten zakken terwijl ik één aflevering kijk van de IJslandse serie ‘Trapped’ op Netflix. 

00:30 De laatste twee afleveringen kijk ik straks na het 7:00 uur Journaal.  

Re-set Sunday.

 Diary,15th of November, 2020.

It’s Sunday again, these weeks of waiting, staying indoors, and trying to find ways to encourage creativity, fly past, whereas the plans I had to fill the gaps that have opened- up due to lack of employment- remain in the ‘planning’ stage. The ‘never to be done’ tray of my idler brain. 

The lack of planning leads me to panic because of days and weeks racing by without anything to be shown for it, had to be taken on, head-on. These past three days I have tried to plan a schedule and keep to it. 

The morning would be spent ‘out and about’, the afternoon divided between writing, reading, and my podcast. The evening was left for the idle consumption of Netflix ‘Scandinavian-crime’ series or other such time fillers.

This planning has worked and made me feel more contented this weekend. 

The morning plan today was to visit ‘The British Shop’ called Stone Manor, not far from Brussels. The drive would only be about forty minutes on a traffic-free Sunday morning, it sounded a ‘fun’ thing to do. 

I’m not the usual ‘ex-pat’ Brit, there isn’t a lot I ‘miss’ from the UK, except the ‘banter’ between friends where most British humor finds its roots, and banter can’t be found on the shelves of food stores. Going to the British store was a huge step for me, the self-indulgence of driving all that way to buy food that I didn’t miss, for prices I could really do without, seems a strange way to spend a rainy autumn Sunday, but I convinced myself I might find some inspiration there. 

I don’t really ‘get’ the whole ‘ex-pat’ thing, why do we white immigrants get to call ourselves anything other than an immigrant? I chose- voluntarily- to live in Belgium, so why would I cling on to reminders of the place where I was born? I mean, the UK is only a short flight or drive away, and it’s not as if Belgium is a totally ‘otherworldly’ culture. Yet we cling, we cling on to reminders of our past, our identity. 

Wherever we came from, we immigrants, no matter how happy we are to live in our new adopted country, struggle with the feeling of not totally belonging, never totally being part of our surroundings, there is always that piece of us that isn’t ‘from here’, we are doomed to live in a sort of cultural purgatory.  

I love living where I live, there are tens of shops representing every corner of the globe, I can be on holiday just by going shopping on a Saturday morning. 

Eastern European bread, Turkish vegetable and fruit store, tea from Sri Lanka, there are no limits to the different foods and spices available. 

Yet there I was this morning, in a British shop near Brussels, a very busy shop, at first I was very distant and cynical, but after a few minutes I felt like an over-excited child, packing my shopping trolley with Scones, Crumpets, British cheeses like Stilton and Red Leicester, Marmalade, Linda McCartneys vegetarian pies and even Marmite the vilest of spreads ever (but I love it). Suddenly I was once again an Englishman, swept back to my youth, memories came flooding back of having (homemade) scones at my Grandmother's house or having Marmalade on toast before setting off for school. 

For the next few days (I’m greedy) my kitchen cupboards will be my cultural reference point, maybe the food will help me define who I actually am. 

I probably could never fit back into the UK after all these years just as I will never feel 100% at home here. It is not a case of being ‘torn’ between two cultures or identities, immigrant or ‘ex-pat’ is my identity and reference point. 

Destined never to feel really settled or at home wherever I am, there is always the nagging doubt, or the temptation to pull up sticks and move back to where I came from. When anybody asks what Nationality I have I usually say ‘British/Belgian now, especially today, this evening … Belgium plays England at football, I’m hoping it’s a draw or that ‘my team’ win, whichever team that is. 

House of Lard.

 House of Lard.

 

The American elections are a thing of the past and the judicial outcome is a thing of the future, Biden won but Trump wants to have another go, and this time through the courts. At the moment Trumps only evidence seems to be ‘There was Fraud because I say so’. 

I take it for granted that ‘sleepy Joe’ Biden will be the next President and Donald- the ‘stable genius’-Trump will be resigned to a reality show or a mental health care facility for the next four years, maybe he can try again then, by that time he might have become an adult. 

So there he goes, the first ‘Celebrity Culture President’, like it or not, this election got the biggest electoral turn-out in the history of U.S. elections, so if you are living in a country where there is a huge divide between the populace and politics, get yourselves a celebrity as candidate, and bridge that gap. 

Looking at both Candidates I can’t help thinking that a lot of people must have been voting for what in their mind ‘the least of all evils’ was. By that I mean that a lot of votes maybe weren’t ‘for’ a candidate, but ‘against’ the other candidate. 

How many voters voted Biden because their main aim was to rid America of Trump and his (choose any combination) racism/misogyny/arrogance/hate speeches and of course his hair? 

There might also be people-the ones that Hillary called the ‘Deplorable’- who are just tired of ‘politics as usual’ tired of the same old crony politics that keeps the poor basically poor and the rich very very rich. There could be people who voted for Trump because they like the turmoil he creates in a system they hate. 

Then there are of course a few nut jobs that think God sent Trump to rid America of ‘heathens’, these people are clinically insane and should, on that alone, lose their voting rights (relax God, its just a joke).

Personally I’m glad Trump lost, but Biden isn’t the guy who will revolutionise American politics and get rid of the inequalities that leave millions of American citizens living in poverty, its Monday tomorrow , just see how Wall Street reacts, they’re probably happy that Trump is gone so they can get back to ripping off the poor of the world and supporting the further rape of the planet without losing friends on the international monetary scene because of Trump. 

So there it was, world leaders were in suspense and held their breath, I was hoping that some of them would have held their breath a little longer… like Putin, Erdogan, the guy from Brazil and a few other members of the ‘nutty world leader elite’. 

I bet Boris Johnson for example will be re-assessing his approach to the Brexit negotiations now his main sponsor of ‘amazing trade deals’ won’t be around. In the U.K., politicians are always talking of the ‘special relationship’ between the U.K. and the US, the ‘special’ thing being that the UK cares about the ‘relationship’ but the U.S. doesn’t really give a sh**, the U.K. is just some place where they can maybe dump some bad meat, and get their planes refuelled on the way to some far off war zone. 

So now the U.S. elections are over, we can get back to fighting that other virus, Corona/Covid 19, but not for long, because the second series of ‘Brexit’ will be airing soon and you don’t want to miss any episode of that. 

Scrapped. A short Story.

 Another one of those days, one of those days without a goal or the capacity to create one. 

He asks himself what to do. 

‘It can’t just be like this, the emptiness, the total lack of passion or creativity’. ‘There must surely be yet more to come, I read and study about the self, about creativity and finding my own ‘uniqueness’ and yet all I want to do is sleep, watch films - the dumber the better.’

He feels tired and unloved. 

The frustration builds. 

‘After all, the last 30 years I have had a career, maybe not the best in my chosen field but I certainly didn’t go unnoticed’. ‘How can it be that this is what is left, no calls, no new projects, not even an old friend or colleague calling for a chat, nothing, was it all just fake? Am I really that unpopular among my peers?’ ‘Or is it just a case of me no longer being relevant, it was just work, just business that I misinterpreted for friendship.’

Then the self hate. 

He despises the person he had to become, to be who he wanted to be. 

‘Well, look at me now, the confidence I once had all gone, the way I used to treat people when I was near the top of the pile now coming around to haunt me.’  ‘I let my success fool me into thinking I was untouchable, that I had everything under control, I was aloof with the adrenaline of adoration some gave.’ ‘ I’m now feeling how it is to be on the receiving end of the wall of silence, of being ignored, silenced.’ ‘All that is left is the emptiness, the endless days of no meaning, one day much the same as the next.’ 

The rebelliousness grows.

He convinces himself he still has the buzz, the creativity, the will. 

‘Ok! If that is how it is to be, then so be it, I started once, I can start again, maybe a small change of direction, maybe focus on one of the other branches in this business.’ ‘Maybe that’s the problem, maybe I was too focussed on just one side of the whole scene, I should explore what other talents I have, focus, all I need is Focus, if they think I’m finished let them think, their surprise will be all the more rewarding.’ ‘FOCUS, discipline, talent  and hard work, it worked before, there is no reason it won’t work again.’

He sits back, thinking of the plan. 

If only he had the energy, the self belief, to actually believe what he thought. 

‘Why am I trying to convince myself to do more?’ ‘I don’t need to prove myself, I can just sit here, relax, find new hobbies, live off the earnings I have made, become someone new, even at this late stage.’ ‘Or I should just give myself time to think, time is important, it is limited - although none of us really know how long we will be allotted’. ‘Tomorrow, when this is all over, today wasn’t a good day to think about new plans, tomorrow I’ll think of how I can re-stake my claim, how I can be more than just this, tomorrow.’ ‘Knowing that there will be a tomorrow is luxury after all, it should be revered.’

He relaxes, leans back. 

The nurse removes the needle, says ‘see you next month’, he smiles.