It's a small world...

There i was this afternoon sitting all alone in my Belgian flat, another weekend where my flatmates went home to their parents, when I get a knock on the door.

One scout leader and 4 scouts looking for a roof for the night.

Being a brother to my fellow scouts I agreed...

Let's get the FARC out of Ecuador

Not much to report at the moment...

The Eircom league season kicked off again this week and Bohs won. Life is good.

Last night, (I remember it as if it were yesterday) there was a bit of a kerfuffle in the kitchen in the flat. Two friends of a flatmate were staying over and they got into an argument. They were making so much noise that I could tell that it was gonna get medieval. The rest of the cokotteurs were onlooking in their PJs when I came down to see if everything was alright in my underpants. It all blew over and in the end I had no need to whip out the paddling pool filled with mud. Shame. If it weren't for the gutter, my mind would be homeless.

Fresh from their antipodean cruise the parents tell me that I won't recognise the house. New beds, an extension, paint job. And they've moved.

My diet has changed recently due to cutbacks, it still fit for a king, but now it's for one who's abdicated.

I'm off to Cologne next weekend for a Debating IV, I was planning on doing a little souvenir shopping but when you've seen one shopping centre you've seen a mall.

I got my camping ticket for the summer's big gig in Punchestown: Jamboree 2008. I'll be writing for the Jamboree's daily publication. Hard hitting articles such as:

"Dead tomato found in Dun Áilinne, Galway camp chef is chief suspect"
"Ten things you wanted to know about that Dublin troop opposite you, but were afraid to ask"
"I'm so hungry, I could murder a brownie"
"This is going to be grate: fun with coat hangers"

...so that's at least one gig involving regularly churning out comedy gold for a captive audience that I'll be getting up to later this year.

All Issues available here.

Mid-term is fast approaching, thank god; I'm always happy to get the first leg over.

Talk cha.

Remember: Without geometry, life is pointless.

"The report of my debt is an exaggeration"

Given that I spent c. 2 months in a 2 star hotel at the start of my year abroad, it seems that the money is starting to run out. Plans to get a McJob have so far been scuppered, owing to the requirement that one be in some way competent in la langue francaise. Facists!. I'm considering selling my body... of literary work (this Blog included) to the highest bidder.

In other news, my co-kotteurs and I had a nice meal together for the first time on Wednesday, we all went out on a whistle stop tour of all the student run bars afterwards (occasioning the rant). Subsequently, two nights later I'm still shattered.


In udder news, mastitis is on the increase in Wallonia.


I'd like to finish with a happy note: G#

Tom Brady is Superbowl

After my flight back I think I may have shaken off the effects of that deep vein tombola. I just had to wait till my balls dropped in the right order.

I started new subjects this week, Maths for Computer Scientists, Calculability, varieties of English and Automatic treatment of Textual data. (Answers on a postcard to the usual address).

Big changes in the accommodation this week as two of my former flatmates have moved out. Nothing good ever comes from a group of people constantly rowing, except for maybe the Boat Race.

One thing I did miss when I was in the fatherland was the traditional Belgian chipper. You can't keep a good deep-fat-fryer down, or food from a bad deep-fat-fryer.

Belgians are becoming more and more price conscious and there have been a few demonstrations since I got here. Personally I think they don't know how lucky they are. €4 for a filling Kebab/Pita/Roll is just like a Nun on a Clown: Virgin on the Ridiculous.

Some people have been asking me what the ladies are like over here. When I consider la femme belge, I'm confused, no wait... maybe I'm not. Well they're a little hard to get a handle on, especially if your concerned about such trivialities as consent. Some girls I've met have been as thick as a telephone directory. Not that they're all unemployed supermodels: Belgium has it's fair share of red heads. If The Little Mermaid has thought me anything, and I think it has, it's that gingers smell of fish. Don't get me wrong: I can hold my own with any woman, and I usually have to. Having said that the fact that I am yet to score here is as big a shock as that time Gay Byrne pulled out of the Rose of Tralee. One cute girl did wave at me the other day if two fingers count as a wave.
Tonight's the superbowl and I plan on overdosing on Nachos. Good times.

Last but not first, I'm not one to gossip, so listen carefully.

Word on the grapevine is that a leading candidate for the Ents position in TCD's SU has been working very hard behind the scenes to get a great line-up for the Trinity Ball. I hear that said candidate has recently contracted The Blizzards & The Rolling Stones; he's been advised to stay in bed and keep off fatty foods.

Naked Tuesdays moved to Naked Saturdays, due to lack of interest

My flatmates have decided that Naked Tuesdays would be better off as "Samedi Nus". Given that I'm the only one around on the weekends it hasn't had the effect I'd wanted...

I'm cold.

Room with a few.

Route du Blocry 33/334,
B-1348 Louvain-la-Neuve,
Belgium

That's where I live.
Before signing the contract scrutinised the room (with an intense Scroot).

It's got 2 chairs, 1 bed, 1 wardrobe, 2 powerpoints, 1 sink, 1 velux window, and a dodgy light which I had to fix.

There's digital TV in the lounge and there's wireless broadband, I think I'm goin to like it here.

"No Homelike Place"

I'm moving out tomorrow.

Not exactly sure where to but I'm moving out. Hostel's full so I gotta go.

Working thru a list of 'avalable' places, excluding the ones that are
too expensive,
for females only,
to far away,
need 12 month contract,
not available right away,
not already taken
Opus Dei (?).

Receiving a littany of emails/SMS starting with "malheureusement" or "desolé" is not exactly nice.

I don't anticipate sleeping out anytime soon, I got some contingency plans, but all in all it ain't a nice feeling.

Say la v.

Sorry there's no joke in this one, but it's not a good time for me, and comedy is all about









































timing.

I'm writing for the screen, but I'm not on strike...

It's been a while since my last post, so let me first apologise for giving you false hope that I'd abandoned posting. The blog has received upwards of 300 hits this week, which means that catapults are making a comeback.

Right now I'm watching Bohs vs Cork on RTE.ie for the last European place.

As previously mentioned I was under the impression that I would be moving in to a kot (Belgisch for student accommodation) on the first of November. Funny story. When I visited the main accom office on my first week here i was told that said kot would be available on the 1st of November, and I scheduled a visit to check it out. An hour later I was at the office for the quarter where the kot was and I was shown to the room. It was grand so I returned to the Office and checked that I should return on the 1st.

The 1st was a public holiday so I went up to the accom office with a view to signing a contract and I was told that it was given to someone else. Apparently I had to confirm that I would take the kot. No one told me that. Imagine the utter desolation. I'd been content for the previous 2 weeks that I'd found a place to live and I'd given out the address, only to be told that someone else had it. Bad times.

Anyway the office did give me a list of 30 or so private places available to rent. Some of the places are said to be "under the prelature of Opus Dei" rent is 200 per month + flagellation fee. The response to most of my initial emails began with either "malheureusement" or "desolé" or "Dear Mister H., yours is a common problem, the cream you are taking should help..." but one said that the place was still available, and that I could visit at 7pm. At 7.10 I sent the owner a text confirming that I'd visited and confirming my interest. The reply told me that it too had been given to someone else. I'm in the hostel for at least the next week but I know that there won't be room there in a few weeks so the clock is ticking. Really bad times. If all else fails, never mind I still have something useful up my slieve: My arm.

I'm looking for ways to make some cash here - there's only so much you can buy with a genuine photocopy of a picture of a ten bob note. Last week I put my shirt on a greyhound. It looked so well that all the other greyhounds wanted one. I made a fortune.

Tomorrow there's an Erasmus dinner, basically everyone makes their national dish. I've couldn't find any "how to" books on Waterford Crystal so I'm making coddle. Finding it hard to find proper sausages, spuds, rashers and onions here, so I hope they like Bratwurst, turnip, salmon and scallion stew, I know I will. Maybe I'll add some petit-pois. All that I'm saying is give peas a chance.

Teachtaireacht gan ainm.

I'm moving in on Thursday.

I'm considering packing, but the gun laws in this country are conservative to say the least so I'll probably leave it.

Completed my first programming assignment, tedium is not the word.

When I'm not in lectures, tutorials or computer rooms, I'm in the cinema, rollerblading, or when reminded that rollerblades are not permitted in theatres, I'm in the cinema watching a movie. I recommend Mr. Brooks, Ratatouille, Micheal Clayton. Other activities include formulating gags for this blog (I'll let you know how that's going) and listening to the local radio stations. The radio stations play all sorts: New romanticism, electro-pop, heavy metal and of course music.

The french version of Harry Potter 7 was released in a similar style to the real version, with midnight openings, big queues etc. I'm still on chapter 1 eagerly anticipating page 99 (the harlot!)

Well as the unprotected crotch of hope collides with the handle bars of destiny, looks like I'm out of time.

Go n-éirí an bóthar libh, (so you'll be walking up hills for the rest of your lives).