27th February. Negative Positivism.

"For once I'm not going to be working in Boots this weekend." says Junior sipping a cup of coffee with two sugars requested from Mrs R. to lighten the mood (four for Daddy as he's a bit grouchy please)

"See when you look at what you said there - it's negative."

"No it's not, I'm a happy bunny looking forward to the weekend."

"If you'd said 'I'm not going to be in Boots this weekend' that would be neutral but what you're really saying in effect is - I'm not in Boots this weekend, normally I am and I'm sick of it, life's passing me by etc. so it's actually you not me that's being all negative."

"Bollocks."

23rd February. I'm No Oil Painting.

Mr W. the horse's head painter tells me he's entering the BP Portrait Competition, the world's most prestigious portrait competition.

It's unlikely you could scoop the £25,000 prize with an oil painting of a horse no matter how pretty a face.

Mr W. seats me in the kitchen chair and takes 20 odd photos to form the basis of this next canvas.

"I'll be on display at the National Portrait Gallery" I mention to Isabelle.

"Why did he want to paint you?"

'A lot of character he said."

"What he means is like the face of a homeless person."

15th February. Ypres.

Isabelle quizzes the hotel receptionist, of Moroccan descent, how to get to Ypres.

"Is it a hotel?"

Well, only if you were killed sometime between 1914 -18.

And then when we finally step off the train several hours later there the sign says Ieper.

"Is this Ypres?"

"There must be two Ypres." says Isabelle.

"The only thing I know about Ypres is it was completely flattened in the First War, Perth looks more damaged than this place."

Opposite the medieval town hall we try our luck at a bookshop with various munitions in the window.

Turns out Patrick the proprietor is a local expert on unexploded Mustard Gas shells and the identification of dead German soldiers.

"There are no buildings in the town less than 90 years old."

"Amazing! Who paid for all the rebuilding work?

"The Germans."

 

14th February. Antwerp Aberration.

"Platform 23, where is it though?"

"We've only got 4 mins."

"There! Look!" I say pointing to the overhead monitor.

"WHAT?"

"Wait. It'll come up with the stations in between... There! this one's going to Antwerp."

"BUT WE'RE ALREADY IN ANTWERP!!"

"Errr..."

The intervening twenty-five years since last visiting Antwerp seem to have exacted a hefty toll.

50% hair loss, memory, etc.

 

13th February. Pre Dawn Brussels.

I run through canyons of glass and steel, home to ranks of suited clones, no doubt. 

On through a semi-industrial bit into a hinterland of ethnic diversity and gang tag graffitti - VYKEA, SKEMS, whatever.

After the turnaround a billboard for some new Lancia proclaims "Marquez Votre Difference!"

Yeah, well, quite.

12th February. Fat Belgian Bastards?

My cappuccino arrives at the Cafe De L'Opera, wow black coffee trapped below a layer of proper solid whipped cream.

"Nothing squirty out of a can here." I say as Isabelle pours her rich dark melted chocolate over a delightful lattice work of waffle dusted with icing sugar.

Statistically one in two Belgian adults are overweight - apparently. 

11th February. Tesco Holidays.

We have been awarded a holiday courtesy of Tesco Clubcard points which Isabelle has somehow converted to Air Miles.

Belgium in February.

It's gonna be...

-3 C.

7th February. The Cone Police.

"They cones belong tae the site!" says a council worker in a Hi-Vis jacket all accusatory.

"I seen you takin' it, what were yer daein' wi' it like?"

I offer up a feeble excuse, in fact the only possible ready explanation, that I'd put it by the back of the trailer in case someone else was reversing into the space by the Inert Waste skip.

I don't think Hi-Vis is buying it but walks off, together with the recaptured cone.

I mean the alternative explanation seems even more unlikely: that someone would bother to nick a single traffic cone. 

6th February. The Big Event In June.

Mr T. tells me the Big Event is in June. "That's not long I say."

"Hah, don't remind me!"

This big event isn't Ironman France, which coincidentally is now only 20 weeks away but a far more grueling Ultra-Marathon that will test human endurance both physical and mental to the upper limits and beyond...

Mrs T. is expecting a baby. 

1st February. Ramsay's Round.

"I've actually found something in life I'm good at" trumpeted the Otter about the recent enthusiasm for hill running.

"You mean besides eating Fruit Allsorts and drinking Tennent's lager?"

"I don't think it would be for this year though...although I was planning to do all the Mamores one Sunday afternoon" he said squinting at the official website.

56 miles, 24 or even 28 Munros with 28,500 feet of climbing - The Classic 24 hour Scottish Challenge, a feat performed by only 52 mad people to date.

"Although no one has ever yet completed 30 Munros in under 24 hours...mmm..." ponders The Otter.

"What? You must be effing joking."