When Thierry booked that trip to Brussels last month, I agreed reluctantly, because a) I'm a natural grouch, b) my spirits were low and c) leaving, even for a couple of days means a LOT of preparation beforehand when you work freelance.

But now, I'm thrilled. We're going to see the Leon Spilliaert exhibition, we've planned to check out the antiques & arts convention and we'll probably visit the Horta museum (two Art Deco houses *droool*).

Violet's coming with me and she's taking Mini-Charlie, her felt chihuahua made by Poohie with her. And I kind of worry about Apple-Amanda, who's nowhere to be seen today. I'm afraid that little minx is hiding somewhere, preferably in my luggage... We'll see.

See you on monday evening. Be nice. Don't forget to brush your teeth and drink your gin-and-tonic while I'm away.

Blythou out.

Over the last few days I have :

- drunk gallons of liquids every day to fight off dehydration (we had a heatwave...)
- peed gallons of liquids, because what goes in must go out eventually
- tried to function despite the heat
- been to Brussels, attended Robbie Williams' gig (great, great fun !)
- wrote the review of the above mentionned gig
- wrote some more
- tried to work out. Worked a sweat instead.
- watched half of the first season of Lost, because I'm somewhat fascinated by the famous Lost monster.

And while we're on Lost, I don't get why everyone's so excited about it. It's ok, the actors are good, but the story is all over the place and patchy. It's obvious the writers don't know exactly where they're going.

Anyway, I'm still under the spell of Desperate Housewives, that we gulped down voraciously in a few sittings. Great stories, great cast, great dialogue. I'm a little scared of Bree, though. Her obsession about perfection disturbs me a little. Of course, I'm not straightlaced and conservative like she is, but sometimes, I see too well how her mind works and it worries me a leeetle.

Blythou out.

I'm somewhat ashamed to admit I'm glad to go see Robbie Williams live in Brussels next week.

I can be shallow, sometimes, dazzled by pure pop entertainment.

I'll probably go to hell for this. But the list of my sins is already long enough to guarantee me a place besides good ole Satan, so I no longer care.

Of course, I'll have to take a train at the crack of dawn on the next morning, write my article right away when I arrive in Paris while nursing a hangover, but what the heck, I used to do it all the time a few years ago when record companies had money to take us everywhere and ply us with complimentary cocktails.

Those were the days. Not as fun as "the days" my older colleagues mention, back when they were plied with complimentary cocaine, *envious sigh*.

Blythou out.