A long time ago, in a village far far away... in India, a bunch of meany bandits attacked the villagers and generally made a nuisance of themselves. In the village square a woman was trying to escape the mayhem but the bandits surrounded her and one of them grabbed her sari and started pulling it off.
(for those who don't know: the sari is a long straight cloth wrapped around and around the body)
So the woman was turning and turning as the sari unravelled, a pile of sari material was building up and the bandit kept pulling more and more, the woman kept turning and the cloth kept piling up. The villagers looked on amazed, eventually the bandits got tired and bored and went away back to their secret lair in the mountains.
How was the woman's modesty preserved? Ahaaa, because that was the village of Ganesh, the boy with the elephants head who later went on to become "the man with the elephants head". I think his parents were hoping he'd grow out of it, like teenage acne. Anyway, it was his devine power that protected the woman.
This is the kind of bedtime story my mum used to tell us when we were kids, there were many more like this. But the reason I'm telling you is that Ganesh was the son of Durga and Shiva, Shiva being part of The Hindu Trinity : Brahma (the creator), Vishnu (the preserver) and Shiva (the destroyer).
There's another group with a Trinity and they're having a big party this weekend. Thanks to them, I've got monday off. My family aren't Hindu but close enough.
So, there's my Easter contibution, Happy Easter!
JJ
(no, mum didn't know why Ganesh didn't fight the bandits in the first place, just go to sleep you've got school in the morning)
Friday, 6 April 2007
Thursday, 5 April 2007
Good Morning Belgium
When I was young I wore pink and white polyester trousers and a batman t-shirt.
My cricket bat was an offcut of wood which I fashioned into a handle and a straight bit.
When the teacher said "you have a very dry sense of humour", I thought I was in trouble but I couldn't say anything because she was beautiful.
My favourite bike was the one my dad bought me second-hand from the paper and when we got it home we realised the forks were cracked and we'd been ripped off.
Our dog was part alsatian and part greyhound, because we couldn't afford a pedigree, but we loved him to bits even though he barked at grandma.
The first time one of my friends died I was 20 and I still think that's too young (he was 21)
The first time I fell in love I couldn't imagine anything else was worth the effort
I made my best friend over an ad in a music shop.
I cried when my wife left me.
I developed a drink habit when I thought I was getting old and useless.
Nothing taught me to keep going, I had no option but to keep going.
I moved to a strange place to get away from myself.
I met some people who had boat loads of problems but still had time for me.
I met some strangers who talk to me for no apparent reason.
So each day I look back on life, I think it's worth it.
My cricket bat was an offcut of wood which I fashioned into a handle and a straight bit.
When the teacher said "you have a very dry sense of humour", I thought I was in trouble but I couldn't say anything because she was beautiful.
My favourite bike was the one my dad bought me second-hand from the paper and when we got it home we realised the forks were cracked and we'd been ripped off.
Our dog was part alsatian and part greyhound, because we couldn't afford a pedigree, but we loved him to bits even though he barked at grandma.
The first time one of my friends died I was 20 and I still think that's too young (he was 21)
The first time I fell in love I couldn't imagine anything else was worth the effort
I made my best friend over an ad in a music shop.
I cried when my wife left me.
I developed a drink habit when I thought I was getting old and useless.
Nothing taught me to keep going, I had no option but to keep going.
I moved to a strange place to get away from myself.
I met some people who had boat loads of problems but still had time for me.
I met some strangers who talk to me for no apparent reason.
So each day I look back on life, I think it's worth it.
Wednesday, 4 April 2007
Karmic Deficit Day
An otherwise normal wednesday has been defiled by the scum of society.
I completed my daily penance at the workhouse and set off to meet my friends for our weekly badminton efforts as usual. All went well, afterwards we go for dinner together, we were going to go the Martin Perdhue (something like that) on the corner of George Henri and Brand Whitlock but there was a wait for the table so we decided to move on. By the time we got back to the car, can't have been ten minutes, some fucking arsehole scumbag has smashed the back window of my friend's car and stolen MY bag! bollocks!!
It was only my gym kit but I bought that bag in Sydney airport when that evil witch of a check in bint made me re-pack my handluggage and check it in. I bought a small back pack to take on board, and now it's gone!!! I travelled the world with that bag.
It's an estate car so there's no boot but a slidy cover thing that hides the contents in the back. Nuts! That's the second person on my list of people who are going to get a severe kicking on judgement day.
So now i'm listening to Carmen with a nice bottle of Sangre de Torro to help me get properly miserable.
On the plus side, we then went to The Pen, where pigs will fly, and enjoyed some lovely Thai food. Quite spicy too by Belgian wimpish standards. It's about a hundred yards from Montgomery on General Jacques, yes yards not feckin metres. Then my friends walked back with me in case the toerag had dumped my bag somewhere having found nothing of value. But no such luck, the wretched fiend must have a fetish for smelly gym gear. Sound like anyone you know? Well you know what to do, don't have nightmares.
Goodnight Brussels,
:(
JJ
I completed my daily penance at the workhouse and set off to meet my friends for our weekly badminton efforts as usual. All went well, afterwards we go for dinner together, we were going to go the Martin Perdhue (something like that) on the corner of George Henri and Brand Whitlock but there was a wait for the table so we decided to move on. By the time we got back to the car, can't have been ten minutes, some fucking arsehole scumbag has smashed the back window of my friend's car and stolen MY bag! bollocks!!
It was only my gym kit but I bought that bag in Sydney airport when that evil witch of a check in bint made me re-pack my handluggage and check it in. I bought a small back pack to take on board, and now it's gone!!! I travelled the world with that bag.
It's an estate car so there's no boot but a slidy cover thing that hides the contents in the back. Nuts! That's the second person on my list of people who are going to get a severe kicking on judgement day.
So now i'm listening to Carmen with a nice bottle of Sangre de Torro to help me get properly miserable.
On the plus side, we then went to The Pen, where pigs will fly, and enjoyed some lovely Thai food. Quite spicy too by Belgian wimpish standards. It's about a hundred yards from Montgomery on General Jacques, yes yards not feckin metres. Then my friends walked back with me in case the toerag had dumped my bag somewhere having found nothing of value. But no such luck, the wretched fiend must have a fetish for smelly gym gear. Sound like anyone you know? Well you know what to do, don't have nightmares.
Goodnight Brussels,
:(
JJ
Tuesday, 3 April 2007
Thank's to all the people
well, I was having a really good day until someone ruined it. Then I thought I'd just go home and revel in self pity, until I read some of your comments.
Thanks for welcoming me here (I should clear up the fact that I've been in bxl for two years, arguably three).
Anyhoo, I am genuinely grateful to all the people that commented my blog. I realise that I'm not saying anything new or original but I need to get these things off my chest otherwise I can't progress as a person.
How very dare you! of course I discuss this with girlfriend, I actually told her she's the only thing that keeps me here. I discuss everything with her because that's what ruined my mickey mouse excuse of a marriage. There! happy now? or should I open the other vein?
Thanks again y'all
JJ
Thanks for welcoming me here (I should clear up the fact that I've been in bxl for two years, arguably three).
Anyhoo, I am genuinely grateful to all the people that commented my blog. I realise that I'm not saying anything new or original but I need to get these things off my chest otherwise I can't progress as a person.
How very dare you! of course I discuss this with girlfriend, I actually told her she's the only thing that keeps me here. I discuss everything with her because that's what ruined my mickey mouse excuse of a marriage. There! happy now? or should I open the other vein?
Thanks again y'all
JJ
Investment in People
So, this morning I'm in training, sitting at my usual desk with a headset connected to a bunch of people in different cities. Of course they all speak perfect english so there won't be any misunderstanding here (aaaahhhh, ha ah ha ah haaaaarrrrr).
Fun fun fun funf and sex. The training is run by the Technical Writing And Training department in conjunction with the Global Information Technology unit. The Committee for Unified National Targets is now going to introduce Simplified Harmonisation Implementing Techniques for the next thirty minutes. Better take notes…
Asset Management
In each section the Project Related Asset Tracking will be monitored the Operations Ledger Director For Assets Realisation Team. To make things easier a Tracking Internal Template will be circulated by email for all those in need of a Wider Asset Naming Knowledge.
Finance
Everyone should take part in Financial Usage Chart Keeping Intra-National Group on a rotational basis. Explanatory notes are kept in the Knowledge Assimilation Roles Materials And Standards Usability Temporary Reference Archive.
Resources
Daily And Forecast Timesheet managers will be responsible for the Coordination Rotas And Procurement in each department.
That's the most notes I've taken in single training session
JJ
Fun fun fun funf and sex. The training is run by the Technical Writing And Training department in conjunction with the Global Information Technology unit. The Committee for Unified National Targets is now going to introduce Simplified Harmonisation Implementing Techniques for the next thirty minutes. Better take notes…
Asset Management
In each section the Project Related Asset Tracking will be monitored the Operations Ledger Director For Assets Realisation Team. To make things easier a Tracking Internal Template will be circulated by email for all those in need of a Wider Asset Naming Knowledge.
Finance
Everyone should take part in Financial Usage Chart Keeping Intra-National Group on a rotational basis. Explanatory notes are kept in the Knowledge Assimilation Roles Materials And Standards Usability Temporary Reference Archive.
Resources
Daily And Forecast Timesheet managers will be responsible for the Coordination Rotas And Procurement in each department.
That's the most notes I've taken in single training session
JJ
Sunday, 1 April 2007
Care Free Day
It's spring again, it'll soon be summer and another Car Free Day beckons, there really should be more of these. Oh how I long to rollerblade along the poorly maintained crappy narrow streets and cycle recklessly fast into the tunnels (the one near Laeken was open last year), but really I doo look forward to that day.
I was vacuuming the matress when I noticed that the suction was rather poor, "this machine is only a few months old" thought I in perplexed puzzlement. Then it dawned on me, I hired a new cleaner in December! she hasn't emptied it! It's been three months! It's a bagless wonder and of course I'd forgotten how to do it so I managed to release the dust before I removed the container and all the crap when into the wrong bit. So instead of effortlessly tipping the dust container into the bin (which is the key selling feature of said cleaner) I had to lift the whole machine, turn it upside down and shake it (that hosepipe should be detachable but I couldn't get it off). I cleaned the machine out and vacuumed the kitchen floor, which is where most of the dust went and has thus ended up back in the vacuum cleaner. A futile excercise is housework, aaah yes - that's why I hired the cleaning lady.
It reminds me of that nursery rhyme about the old lady who swallowed the fly and the spider and so on, doing one thing to fix the previous foul up. What a revolting disgusting song, then she swallowed a cat as I recall it. I think my favourite nursery rhyme was about "this old man", apparently he was playing "knick knack" a lot and whacking paddies. Of course I didn't understand that at the time. But the songs we sang in the scouts topped both of those; "ging gang gooly" etc. Absolute and utter gibberish, what sane and sensible adult wants to spend her evenings off teaching this nonsense to children? None I suppose, if the two wet-weekends we had for leaders are anything to go by.
I just went to close the doors and put the heating on a little when I realised the heating's been on full blast all day! I didn't notice because it had been such a nice day I had all the doors open. Damn!
This boring but harmless day is turning into an annoyance. Bloody Sunday! Where are my Hula Hoops? There's never any plain ones, only Barbecue and flipping Bolognese Sauce flavour. It's always the same here, everythings set up be just not quite what you want. Why should I carry a bottle of vinegar to the seaside? What the bloody blazes is Hector's Chicken?? get KFC already for crying out loud!! And most of all, stop calling that crappy putrid day-glow cat vomit "curry", it's blatantly obvious even to a half senile Englebert Humperdinck fan from Bournemouth - you wouldn't know a curry if it dressed itself up in wire framed spectacles and a loin-cloth, kicked you in the marital aids department and said "Hello, you can call me Mahatma", aaarrrgghhh!
Bagless wonder, my backside!!!!
Well, it's been a funny sort of day in all, I never did get to see the glorious mountains and valleys of the hidden paradise that is nurse Gladys Emmanuel. Still, tomorrow's another day...
laters,
JJ
I was vacuuming the matress when I noticed that the suction was rather poor, "this machine is only a few months old" thought I in perplexed puzzlement. Then it dawned on me, I hired a new cleaner in December! she hasn't emptied it! It's been three months! It's a bagless wonder and of course I'd forgotten how to do it so I managed to release the dust before I removed the container and all the crap when into the wrong bit. So instead of effortlessly tipping the dust container into the bin (which is the key selling feature of said cleaner) I had to lift the whole machine, turn it upside down and shake it (that hosepipe should be detachable but I couldn't get it off). I cleaned the machine out and vacuumed the kitchen floor, which is where most of the dust went and has thus ended up back in the vacuum cleaner. A futile excercise is housework, aaah yes - that's why I hired the cleaning lady.
It reminds me of that nursery rhyme about the old lady who swallowed the fly and the spider and so on, doing one thing to fix the previous foul up. What a revolting disgusting song, then she swallowed a cat as I recall it. I think my favourite nursery rhyme was about "this old man", apparently he was playing "knick knack" a lot and whacking paddies. Of course I didn't understand that at the time. But the songs we sang in the scouts topped both of those; "ging gang gooly" etc. Absolute and utter gibberish, what sane and sensible adult wants to spend her evenings off teaching this nonsense to children? None I suppose, if the two wet-weekends we had for leaders are anything to go by.
I just went to close the doors and put the heating on a little when I realised the heating's been on full blast all day! I didn't notice because it had been such a nice day I had all the doors open. Damn!
This boring but harmless day is turning into an annoyance. Bloody Sunday! Where are my Hula Hoops? There's never any plain ones, only Barbecue and flipping Bolognese Sauce flavour. It's always the same here, everythings set up be just not quite what you want. Why should I carry a bottle of vinegar to the seaside? What the bloody blazes is Hector's Chicken?? get KFC already for crying out loud!! And most of all, stop calling that crappy putrid day-glow cat vomit "curry", it's blatantly obvious even to a half senile Englebert Humperdinck fan from Bournemouth - you wouldn't know a curry if it dressed itself up in wire framed spectacles and a loin-cloth, kicked you in the marital aids department and said "Hello, you can call me Mahatma", aaarrrgghhh!
Bagless wonder, my backside!!!!
Well, it's been a funny sort of day in all, I never did get to see the glorious mountains and valleys of the hidden paradise that is nurse Gladys Emmanuel. Still, tomorrow's another day...
laters,
JJ
The Veal Kebab
There are at least five hairdressers within four minutes walking distance of where I live, I don't live in the city, seems a bit excessive. I mention it because I started writing this while waiting for a shampoo.
All the other customers are women and they've all got foil in their hair, I think it's for the highlights. Unless they're just trying to block the aliens from reading their Belgian thoughts about hair and mayonnaise. I declined the offer of coffee, as usual. I've seen them disappear into their little hair-secrets secret room to return laden with cups of boiling spider urine, no thanks. (That's laden, not Laden. Laden is the fella the CIA trained to kill Russians, who would've guessed he'd turn into a bad-guy? now't as queer as folk eh?!) For a change of pace, I accepted the offer of reading material and selected the Cosmopolitan. I feel that if I was a Belgian woman with foil in her hair and mayonnaise on her mind, I'd want to read the Cosmopolitan - it's more in tune with my lifestyle than the less established women’s press. So, with a dazzling display of dexterity, cunning and cat-like nonchalance, I to turn to the horoscopes. I reckon Vierge is Virgo, going by the dates. My French isn't very good (in the sense that it's excruciatingly poor) but this is a good chance to practise. It seems to say something about sensual adventures, beware of short travel agents and your boyfriend's an insensitive twat so why don't you dump him? "it's the same in any language" as they say. The rest of cosmo seems to be littered with pictures of semi naked women, so why do they complain about men's magazines? Maybe that's just my hormonal perception of cosmo.
I'll finish this later at home....
....later at home
The ritual of the hairdresser continued with me making scissors-clippy mimes, twenty-five French lessons have not quite paid for themselves yet, even though they were provided free by my loving employer. Next on the saturday-things-to-do-before-sunday agenda is shopping. Luckily the supermarket has a great butcher's counter so I picked out the two biggest veal medallions and a few other bits and set off home. Being unfamiliar with the Gordon Blue school of cooking I decided to make a huge Kebab and chips, more like Gordon Bennett. Not the pony shish kebab with the cubed paprika's and such nonsense, this is in pitta bread with token salad effort and drowned in samurai and hot pepper sauce. Some might say a waste of good veal, those are the veal snobs who peeeeer from behind the curtains at the neighbour's wife while she hangs up the washing and have carnal thoughts in their pants.
"Stay away veal snobs!", I say to them, "or I'll pluck your eyebrows with a lawnmower and plant watercress in your sock drawer". Seems to work well enough.
The thing with veal snobs is they're not all that bright because they keep hand-guns in their dishwashers and the gunpowder fumes get expelled into the kitchen during the rinse cycle. Then they breathe the fumes in over breakfast and take on a drowsy distanced disposition for the rest of the day, every day. I once caught a veal snob by hanging watercress from a sun bed in my back yard, watercress to a veal snob is like garlic to a vampire but they have a morbid fascination with it, it took nine months.
In the meantime I managed to make a death star out of hotel towels and discovered the mathematical description of 13th dimensional quantum behaviour but I lost it when that hot chick next door was hanging out the washing.
Bugger!
Now it's time for the veal and rocquefort kebab...
laters,
JJ
All the other customers are women and they've all got foil in their hair, I think it's for the highlights. Unless they're just trying to block the aliens from reading their Belgian thoughts about hair and mayonnaise. I declined the offer of coffee, as usual. I've seen them disappear into their little hair-secrets secret room to return laden with cups of boiling spider urine, no thanks. (That's laden, not Laden. Laden is the fella the CIA trained to kill Russians, who would've guessed he'd turn into a bad-guy? now't as queer as folk eh?!) For a change of pace, I accepted the offer of reading material and selected the Cosmopolitan. I feel that if I was a Belgian woman with foil in her hair and mayonnaise on her mind, I'd want to read the Cosmopolitan - it's more in tune with my lifestyle than the less established women’s press. So, with a dazzling display of dexterity, cunning and cat-like nonchalance, I to turn to the horoscopes. I reckon Vierge is Virgo, going by the dates. My French isn't very good (in the sense that it's excruciatingly poor) but this is a good chance to practise. It seems to say something about sensual adventures, beware of short travel agents and your boyfriend's an insensitive twat so why don't you dump him? "it's the same in any language" as they say. The rest of cosmo seems to be littered with pictures of semi naked women, so why do they complain about men's magazines? Maybe that's just my hormonal perception of cosmo.
I'll finish this later at home....
....later at home
The ritual of the hairdresser continued with me making scissors-clippy mimes, twenty-five French lessons have not quite paid for themselves yet, even though they were provided free by my loving employer. Next on the saturday-things-to-do-before-sunday agenda is shopping. Luckily the supermarket has a great butcher's counter so I picked out the two biggest veal medallions and a few other bits and set off home. Being unfamiliar with the Gordon Blue school of cooking I decided to make a huge Kebab and chips, more like Gordon Bennett. Not the pony shish kebab with the cubed paprika's and such nonsense, this is in pitta bread with token salad effort and drowned in samurai and hot pepper sauce. Some might say a waste of good veal, those are the veal snobs who peeeeer from behind the curtains at the neighbour's wife while she hangs up the washing and have carnal thoughts in their pants.
"Stay away veal snobs!", I say to them, "or I'll pluck your eyebrows with a lawnmower and plant watercress in your sock drawer". Seems to work well enough.
The thing with veal snobs is they're not all that bright because they keep hand-guns in their dishwashers and the gunpowder fumes get expelled into the kitchen during the rinse cycle. Then they breathe the fumes in over breakfast and take on a drowsy distanced disposition for the rest of the day, every day. I once caught a veal snob by hanging watercress from a sun bed in my back yard, watercress to a veal snob is like garlic to a vampire but they have a morbid fascination with it, it took nine months.
In the meantime I managed to make a death star out of hotel towels and discovered the mathematical description of 13th dimensional quantum behaviour but I lost it when that hot chick next door was hanging out the washing.
Bugger!
Now it's time for the veal and rocquefort kebab...
laters,
JJ
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