Well he's gone. Leaving a trail of debt and destruction, the infamous (un-famous) T. Kinsella's gone back home to Dublin after a whirlwind weekend in Brussels, Louvain-la-Neuve & Leuven.
We went to the Heisel centre in Brussels. It was my first time to stand under the Atomium, very impressive close up, three-hundred feet tall if it's an inch… which it's not. Then it was off to the Oceade. They've got slides there. Extreme slides. Going down one is unwise going down all of them is not quite as intelligent as a mildly retarded woodchuck suffering from late-stage syphilis.
We also made the Trip into Flanders to the city of Leuven. Twas the best fun a group of Irish people had had since Mike & Liam Earl took the 16:07 Ryanair flight. Other stuff also happened but like an underage gay, I can't be arsed.
The weather here is pretty cold so I'm saving up for a snow-melting machine. It's beginning to look like quite a slush-fund.
As the smoker of time steps outside for the cigarette of fate and learns just how dangerous smoking is if you step out of a cable car, I notice it's time to sign-off. Once again it's seems that life, like Eric Cantona, can sometimes leap up and give you a kick in the head.
No words of sadness or regret could express how I feel... However, words of joy and excitement probably could.
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