Savouring Brussels – 4

Our visit to the ‘beer temple’ was great fun. Even I, a true beer drinking Belgian, was overwhelmed by what we saw. Looking at all these beers made us slightly thirsty. I herefore decided to take my guestes to a place where could quench are thirst but at the same time live a new experience.

Our destination was ‘La Bécasse’ – the Woodcock – a typical Brussels café, serving the ultimate Brussels’ beers: Lambic and Gueuze. These beers own their unique taste, colour and ‘body’ to the Zenne River. The Zenne meanders through the city. In the old days it was visible but today it mostly runs underground, except for some places, like the lobby of the Radisson SAS hotel neat the Grand’ Place.

We didn’t see the river but we did taste the beer that owns its fame to it. Apparently the water contains a special ‘bacteria’ that produces the beer’s unique characteristics during the fermentation process. You’ll find Lambic and Gueuze beers in most, if not all Brussels’ cafés, but ‘La Bécasse’ has a special feature, which – like the beer – makes it quite unique.

Before last week’s visit, I had been to ‘La Bécasse’ only once; in 1976, when two fellow students took me there to taste the famous Lambic. I knew the café was located at the end of a rather obscure alley near the Grand’ Place. Before setting out for my meeting with Veronica and Sue, I had ‘done my homework’, meaning that I had looked up the café’s location on ‘mappy.be’. Nevertheless, I wasn’t quite sure about our destination, and my only ‘point de repère’ was the Saint Nicolas church, which is just across the street from the café.

We found the church quite easily and because Veronica and Sue hadn’t visited it yet – when they had walked past it on Wednesday the entrance had been completely blocked by beggars – we decided to have a look inside. Here are some photos of the interior.

The main altar in baroque style.

A guilded shrine. Saint Nicolas' maybe?

A modern stained glass window.

A man seeking peace and quiet to read his newspaper.
So 'not done' in a church.

Savouring Brussels - 3bis

Yesterday I tried to post several photos of our visit to the 'Biertempel', but somehow blogger refused to insert them in the editor. Downloading the photos wasn't the problem, but publishing them failed over and over again. So, after five frustrating attempts, I simply gave up.

Today I'm giving it another try ...

Veronica checking out some of the many beers.

A 'personalized' shopping bag.

Funny and colourful labels, not always in good taste though.

Don't let the prices frighten you; these bottles are 'magnums' or even bigger.
So you get a lot of beer for your money.

These beer mug keyrings were quite cute.

While we were browsing through the shop, I had an idea; something that would certainly surprise and please my friends ...

Savouring Brussels – 3

After our meal at the ‘Roue d’Or’ we set out to visit some of Brussels’ sights. As Veronica and Sue had already been exploring the city for two days, I tried to come up with some lesser known places; places where tourists rarely venture. I ran a short list of places to them and was surprised that they hadn’t seen the statue of Brussels’ most famous citizen yet: Manneken Pis. I’ve posted about his legend here.

The statue is very close to the restaurant and it took us only five minutes to get there. The street leading to it was very crowded with tourists. When we got there they were thronging to get a good look and a photo of the ‘great’ hero – who is barely 50 cm tall! On this particular day he was wearing a new costume – some kind of monk’s habit. It didn’t do the little guy justice. I prefer him in his birthday suit!

The little guy in his new costume.

A lot of people were eating – or should I say gobbling – Belgian waffles, covered in thick layers of whipped cream. I shot this photo of all the possible toppings, and it made me feel slightly queasy. The original Belgian waffle comes with only a fine topping of whipped cream and maybe a few strawberries. I think some of these ‘creations’ look absolutely disgusting.

I carefully steered my guests away and led them to the Queen’s gallery where I showed them the shop of one of the best Belgian ‘chocolatiers’: Corné, where I bought a small box of chocolates for my mother and another one for Veronica and Sue.

Our next stop was the ‘Biertempel’ (beer temple). I have walked past this shop many, many times but have never been inside. This time we did. We were overwhelmed by what we saw! I can’t even guess how many different types of Belgian beers there were, many of which I had never heard of. Some of the labels were really funny, although not always in good taste. The bottles came in all sizes and colours and there were a lot of ‘prularia’ (Belgian slang for trinkets, gadgets, …).

Photos yet to come! Blogger is playing up again ...

Savouring Brussels – 2

Veronica and Sue were really impressed with the interior of the Roue d’Or (The golden wheel) restaurant where I took them. This restaurant is a very ‘local’ affaire. By this I mean that you rarely find tourists eating there. Most patrons are locals or businessmen, discussing shop over lunch. From what I’ve been told, Belgium is the only country in Europe where so much business is done over lunch.

The interior of La Roue d'Or.
This photo was taken at the end of our meal,
when most of the patrons had already left.

We were given a corner table near the kitchen and Veronica and Sue seemed to like the aroma’s that came floating out of the kitchen. Our waiter was a somewhat elderly man, with grey-streaked hair and a neatly trimmed moustache. While we were studying the menu card (we were all given the English version) we ordered and sipped a glass of Champagne. I had some trouble recognizing the typical Belgian dishes in their English translation. Moreover, the translation wasn’t always correct. In vain I looked for the ‘Waterzooi op Gentse wijze’ but failed to find it. We started our meal with one starter which we shared: ‘rillettes de canard’ and warm toast. It came on a rectangular plate in three neatly presented portions. We were each given a small plate and a knife. Six slices of burning hot toast were served on a separate plate. Sue, who had awful memories of some pork rillettes that she once had in France, bravely tried some of the duck version and found it to be much nicer than the pork.

Next we ordered:

Veronica: ‘rable de lièvre Arlequin’ = hare filet with two sauces, a light and creamy pepper sauce and a dark venison sauce. It came with a half pear stuffed with cranberries and a celeriac mash.

Sue: the dish that on the English menu card was listed as ‘chicken stew’, and turned out to be the famous ‘Waterzooi’ that I had been looking for = boiled and de-skinned chicken pieces in a creamy soup containing carrots, leaks and boiled potatoes.

Me: ‘saucisse de campagne et stoemp’ = potato and carrot mash with sausages. It turned out to be huge … and by huge I mean really huge. The plate that was put in front of me contained a quantity that usually my mother and I share over Saturday lunch.

We had the house wine with it; a nice and dark red, and some sparkling water. By the time we had finished our meal, half of the other patrons had left, and the restaurant was much quieter. We didn’t have any dessert or coffee, as I wanted to take my friends to a different place for that.When we left, I foolishly forgot the plastic bag containing the tea towel and the book, my friends’ gifts. Luckily Veronica was more vigilant and picked it up. I would have felt really bad if I had lost it as it really means a lot to me.

Savouring Brussels - 1

Veronica and Sue, my blog friends from the UK, arrived in Brussels on Tuesday afternoon for a four-day visit. As I was working I had to wait till Friday to meet up with them. We rendezvoused at La Chaloupe D’Or on the famous Grand’Place. They arrived on the stroke of noon, just as planned. And they were bearing gifts: a tea towel featuring the main sights of Brighton, the seaside town where they live and a very interesting and beautiful book about Brighton’s most famous building, the Royal Pavillion.

We chatted for about an hour, about what they had been up to since their arrival on Tuesday and their plans for rest of their stay. The atmosphere was really relaxed and easy going. Although we had only met once before, when I was staying overnight in Charing last July, it was as if we had known each other for years.

As they had seen most of the interesting Brussels’ sights on Wednesday and Thursday, I suggested that we would spend the afternoon discovering Belgium’s gastronomy. And somehow, they didn’t object. So after drinks at the Chaloupe D’Or we set out for my favourite restaurant in the Grand’Place district: La Roue D’Or. It’s only a three minute walk from the Chaloupe to the restaurant. By the time we arrived, we found the restaurant crowded and very lively. Fortunately, I had taken the precaution of booking a table …

They’re coming!

Today my two guest writers from the UK, Veronica and Sue are setting out for Belgium. They left their home this morning at 7.15 a.m. local time (6.15 a.m. Belgian time) to take the Eurostar to Brussels. I expected them to arrive in Brussels around 11 a.m., on the same Eurostar from Ashford that I took three months ago on my return journey from Deal.

This train re-emerges from the channel tunnel on the French side around 10 o’clock after a 25 minute drive beneath the seabed. I wanted to surpise them and therefore left a text message on Veronica’s mobile phone, for her to receive as soon as the train made its ‘landfall’. It read: “Welcome to Belgium.” Three minutes after sending the message, I received an answer: “We’re still in London, but we are on our way.” So they weren’t using the Ashford connection after all and had gone all the way up to London to catch the train.

I don’t know when they will be arriving in Brussels, but I hope that by the time they get here the sky will have cleared, because right now– I’m writing this during my lunch break and will be posting from my laptop at home later this afternoon – it is raining and there is a stiff wind blowing (16:45 - update: the rain has stopped, but it's still windy and really cold; only 10°C).

However, according to Frank, our national weatherman, the weather should improve as from tomorrow. I guess that we are in for some nice sunny and dry – yet probably chilly – autumn days. I hope it’ll hold till Friday when I will be meeting Veronica and Sue at their hotel. The intention is to walk to the Grand’Place – a 30 minute stroll – to have an aperitif and lunch together.

July 2011: Sue and Veronica on the village green in Charing.

Amazingly enough they are staying in a hotel which is located at 300 m from my employer’s former offices and 100 m from my old school where I studied as a translator. What a strange coincidence, especially as they picked the hotel at random. It’s also the hotel where in 2005 my former classmates and I celebrated the 25th anniversary of our graduation. In total I spent 15 years in that part of Brussels, so I’m familiar with the neighbourhood. I also know my way around there, which is more than can be said for the rest of the capital.

I’m really looking forward to seeing my two guest writers again. That is, if I can make it, because there's an itchy-pitchy risk that I need to go into office on Friday after all, although it is my day off. Let’s keep our fingers crossed!

Mystery solved

I admit that the quiz I posted over the weekend required some careful research and I really applaud and thank those of you who took the trouble.

Okay, now it’s time to reveal the answer. The link is Saint Martin, whom you can see in the painting. The top photo is the picturesque village of Candes Saint-Martin, on the confluent of the Loire and the Vienne. Saint-Martin died here at the end of the fourth century. And the third photo is the village church of Zaventem in Belgium where the above-mentioned painting by Sir Anthony Van Dijck is hanging.

Saint-Martin was quite a character. He was born in Hungary in 316 A.C. His father was a high-ranking officer in the Roman legion, which probably explains why Martin enlisted too at the young age of 17. The painting depicts a legendary scene from the young soldier’s life. He’s cutting his military cloak in half to hand part of it to a half-naked beggar by the city gates. Martin must have been about 25 at the time. He was reprimanded for this kind gesture as his senior officer claimed that the cloak was property of the Roman Empire and the young man was ordered to refund the cloak from his meagre salary.

The interior of the church in Zaventem.

Later Martin left the army and became a missionary. The travelled extensively with explains the presence of the many Saint Martin churches and villages all over France and Europe. The story goes that he brought a vine from his home country, carrying it the hollow bone of a bird filled with earth to keep it alive. When the vine grew, he put it in the bigger bone of a donkey and later that of an oxen. When he arrived in the Loire Valley, he planted his vine, which by then was big and strong, in the chalky soil around Vouvray … where it flourished and grew.

Martin was very popular and became Bishop of Tours, where he later, in 397 died and was buried at the fine old age of 81. He must have been a very healthy man, to have lived that long in those dark ages. Maybe it was the Loire Valley wines that contributed to his good health!

Sir Anthony Van Dijck, a famous 16th century portrait painter, was born in Antwerp. During his life, he lived in Zaventem for a while, where since the 1950ties Brussels airport is located. During his short stay, he fell in love with the daughter of one of the village’s noblemen. They never had a change to get married though, because Antony was called to the English court, where he became portrait painter to the English royals. To show his affection for his beloved and the village where he had spent such a great time, he donated the painting of Saint-Martin to the village, where until this day it is still on display in the local church.

Well, that’s it; the famous link. I’d like to end this post on a poetic and romantic quote. A quote that beautifully expresses the serenity and royalty of Candes Saint Martin. A French poet described it as the spot “where a King (The Loire, Le Fleuve Royal) receives a Princess (The Vienne River) in his bed …”

The link

I haven't posted a quiz for a long time. So here's another little puzzle for you to solve... I know it's a very long shot, and I don't expect anyone to find the answer. But just give it a try... who knows!

The question is: What's the link between these three photos?

My favourite spot in the Loire Valley.

The man without whom we wouldn't be drinking Vouvray wines nowadays,
nor any of the other Loire Valley wines ...

The village church of a small town near
my home town in Belgium.

Our own Jamie Oliver

I suppose that everybody living in the Anglo-Saxon world and even only mildly interested in cooking knows who Jamie Olivier, aka The Naked Chef, is. Since his first appearance on television in the late nineties, he has become a leading British chef. Personally I think he owns his success to his charismatic personality and his ‘easy’ way of cooking. Although he isn’t exactly a composed and calm person, cooking becomes child play when you watch him putting his dishes together. I realize that some people can’t stand him, but I like him … and his recipes.

Since last autumn we in Belgium have our very own Jamie Oliver called Jeroen Meus. I don’t know who discovered him, but about ten years ago a local television station that was operating on a small budget called in this young man to do a daily cooking show, which only took 10 minutes or so.

Little by little Jeroen made his way up. A few years ago he was the official ‘City chef’ of Leuven, the town where he has his restaurant called ‘Luzine’. ‘Luzine’ is the Flemish, yet non-existing spelling of ‘L’Usine’, which is French for ‘factory’, his restaurant being located in a former industrial building. It is located along the canal across the headquarters of the world famous InBev brewery. Which by the way makes our two national lagers: Stella and Juliper.

But back to the television program. Every week day the cooking show with Jeroen Meus is broadcasted just after the six o’clock news. It’s called ‘Dagelijkse kost’, which is Flemish slang meaning ‘Daily food’. And that’s exactly what he’s doing: cooking every day food based on recipes that have been around forever: pork roast with peas and carrots, cordon bleu with mixed salad and boiled potatoes, beef stew … Every now and then he throws in a more exotic recipe: Italian, Chinese, Mexican, Thai …

Jeroen preparing pork roast with peas and carrots.

Like Jamie Olivier he's very lively and straightforward.

The photo is slightly blurry because it's a shot of my television screen.

All the recipes are available in a book, which over the last two years time has become the best selling cook book in Belgium. It is also sold in Holland, but the Dutch seem to have some problems with the ingredients because the Flemish vocabulary is slightly different from the Dutch. When Jeroen speaks of ‘zwarte pens met appelspijs’ (black pudding with apple sauce) the Dutch don’t understand what he’s talking about, because in Dutch the same dish is called ‘bloedworst met appelmoes’ …

But as Shakespeare said: “What’s in a name?”… As long as it tastes good!

An organic whopper

This morning my colleague C. arrived at the office with a big smile on her face. “I have a little present for you” she said. I was puzzled as I didn’t remember talking about anything in particular lately that could have caused this unexpected show of generosity.

She rummaged in her backpack and pulled out a small paper bag, the kind vegetables are wrapped in. She delicately handed it to me. While I opened it I could feel that she was watching me, anxious to see my reaction. “I’ve kept the biggest and the nicest one for you.” she said, adding some more suspense to the whole matter.

The bag contained a huge orangey-red tomato. It looked and smelled delicious. “It’s organically grown.” C. proudly said. I thanked her for her kind gesture and asked her what had incited her to present me with this big, shiny tomato.

A 'whopper' tomato: 12 cm in diameter and 333 gr.

C. lives out in the country, some 35 km from Brussels. There are a lot of large, traditional farms in the area. Although she doesn’t live on a farm herself, she’s a keen gardener. She also has several chickens, two donkeys and a dog. And I know from our mandatory early morning chats that she’s very much into healthy living and organically grown vegetables.

The tomato she gave me comes from a farm in her neighbourhood. It is run by a young couple who are putting a lot of time and effort in growing organic vegetables and producing cheese from organically raised and fed cattle. Last weekend, in order to promote the farm’s produce, C. had organized a tomato tasting session at her home. Fifteen or so invited friends and neighbours had feasted on several species of tomatoes which C. had cut into bite-size slices. With the tomatoes she had served vinaigrette, sliced baguette, cheese from the same farm and some chopped parsley and basil.

The initiative turned out to be success, because before leaving most of the participants put in an order for more organic vegetables, ranging from tomatoes and pumpkins, to leeks, celeriac, potatoes, beans and onions.

The large tomato in the bag was a ‘left-over’ from the tasting session. I asked C. whether it was a ‘coeur de boeuf’ (beef’s heart), a plausible suggestion considering its size. According to C. it wasn’t, although she wasn’t really sure.

I guess I’ll chop it up tonight and serve it with spring onions and a vinaigrette of olive oil, honey and garlic vinegar, pepper and salt. It should go well with the ‘chicken schnitzel’ I bought at my butcher’s last Saturday. A ‘chicken schnitzel’ is two thin slices of chicken breast, with a creamy filling of cheese and shredded ham. It’s rolled in beaten egg yolks and covered in bread crumbs. You simply fry it in a hot pan, with some olive or coconut oil, until it is golden brown and the cheese comes oozing out when you cut the schnitzel in half… Must run, because I can hear my stomach growling.

When good neighbours become good friends ..

On September 10th, I posted about buying a new chandelier. You can read about it here, just in case you are new to this blog or missed the post.

My friend and I picked it up almost a month ago, but never got round to putting it up ... until yesterday. For the last four weeks the big white box had been sitting in the second bedroom, bothering my cleaning lady and giving my mother several sleepless nights.

My mother, who's the sweetest woman in the world, is also the most overprotecting person I know. She's constantly warning me about things being too difficult or too dangerous for me to do. After trying to lift the box containing the chandelier, she started having nightmares about it dropping on my head while I was holding it up in the air while my friend was attaching it to the ceiling and connecting the wires.

Last Sunday, during lunch, I noticed her glancing at the ceiling every now and then. In the end she could no longer keep her fears to herself. "You can't hang up that chandelier. It's too heavy. It will never hold and bring the whole ceiling down. You have to take it back to the store and buy something less heavy." She said without ever actually having seen the chandelier.

There was only one way to calm her down and to reassure her. Show the photo of the chandelier that I had taken in the showroom and promise her that I would get in an extra hand to help us.

Well, here it is ... at last.

What do you think?

For two days I wondered who would be available on Thursday afternoon to give us a hand. On Tuesday the answer presented itself in the person of my former upstairs’ neighbour, the husband of the young Italian couple. I ran into G. in the yard behind the apartment complex. I know he works as a waiter in a nearby restaurant and is at home between lunch and dinner shifts.

When I asked him, he immediately said 'yes'. However, he wouldn't be home till half past four; by then my friend would be gone, because he had an important appointment at 4 p.m. But then G, suggested that maybe his neighbour S. from across the landing might be at home. S. is a very nice man, who's always very cheerful and smiling. He's in his mid-thirties, tall and strong. The ideal man for the job. Moreover, a few days before my’ big move’ in March, he had spontaneously suggested to give me a hand if or when I needed one.

G. took my mobile phone number and promised to take up the matter with S. On Wednesday evening S. called me and we agreed that he would come at half past two on Thursday (yesterday) to give us a hand. When I told my mother about this little arrangement she was relieved that there was no longer a risk of me being crushed by the chandelier.

Yesterday my friend, S. and I worked for about an hour, assembling the chandelier, which came in bits and pieces, figuring out which was the best way to fix it to the ceiling without drilling holes and actually putting it up. We wore chirurgical gloves in order not to leave nasty fingerprints on the metal. Another reason for wearing the gloves were the halogen capsules that needed to be fitted into the glass domes. Having worked with a lamp bulb manufacturing company for five years in the nineties, I knew that bare halogen capsules are very fragile and that greasy finger prints can cause them to explode when lit.

After we had put up the chandelier, the three of us enjoyed a cool beer. When S. left, I gave him a bottle of bubbly to thank him for his time and help. That’s how good neighbours become good friends …

Wish I could have been there

Last night I received a phone call from my former colleagues and friends B. and J.L. Last year I acted as their unofficial tour guide on their first trip to the Loire Valley. Recently, I was invited to their home for lunch. During the meal they informed me that they were going back to the Loire Valley in the beginning of September. Not as tourists this time, but as potential buyers of a holiday home.

They admitted that they had fallen in love with the region and that it looked like the ideal place to spend their vacations; alone or with their children and grandchildren. They were particularly interested in the area around Saint-Aignan on the Cher River.

May 2010: the railway crossing near Langeais in the Loire Valley.

I've always been amused and yet slightly bemused by the sign saying
'Un train peut en cacher un autre.' wondering what it implied.

And now they were back and had a lot to tell. B. and I spent more than an hour on the phone – which by the way is free between 5 p.m. and 6 a.m. and on weekends. It was fun learning about their adventures. They had visited several houses in and around Saint-Aignan and Selles-sur-Cher. Two of them appealed to them a lot. But one stood on too much land and it is hard to manage a large garden when you’re not living full-time on the premises. The other was perfect, yet too small as it only had two bedrooms, and B.and J.L. have two children and five grandchildren.

However, they found the experience very satisfying and they are more then ever determined to buy a house in the area. They will be going back in May to do some more house hunting.

They also did a bit of sightseeing. They returned to the village of Crissay-sur-Manse where I had taken them last year and where we had had a lovely salad lunch alfresco at the Auberge ‘Les Coups de Coeur’. Unfortunately they found the Auberge closed (weekly closing day).

They also tried their luck at 'L’Hélianthe' in Turquant; another restaurant they had very much enjoyed during last year’s visit. But the restaurant was also closed. B. told me that J.L. had been very disappointed as he had really, really liked the food and the atmosphere of the restaurant when we were there in May 2010.

Listening to B.’s stories made me realize how much I miss the Loire Valley. This year was the first time in 13 years that I didn’t visit my favourite holiday destination. I admit that I had a great time in Deal in July, and that it was fantastic seeing Teresa and Mats again, meeting Veronica and Sue and visiting all the places where I spent such happy holidays in the seventies. But somehow, a year without seeing my friends in the Touraine and not being able to visit Candes-Saint-Martin, Vouvray, Amboise … is really getting me down.

B. and I also made some arrangements for our next outing together: a gourmet trip to the Gaume region in southern Belgium, with an unusual snack lunch in farm-like tavern near the town of Neufchâteau and a gastronomic dinner in my favourite hotel-restaurant in the village of Habay-la-Neuve. When? End of this month. You’ll get a full report afterwards, of course!

Punk! - No, not the music ...

I once read somewhere that there are more insects on this earth than there are people. And lately I’m beginning to believe this theory. Just a week ago this grasshopper spent the best part of the weekend hanging on for dear life on the glass of my living room window.

A photographic attempt
to make an insect look like a design item.

And tonight, when coming home for work, I found another intruder. This one had actually found its way into the apartment and quickly scurried into safety under a small lamp stand by the entrance door. At first, in the penumbra, I mistook it for a dark feather or a dot of dust floating across the floor. Why the darkness, you’ll ask, as it was only half past four when I got home. Well, when the temperatures are really high and the sun is shining at full strength, like it is nowadays, I find that the only way to keep to temperature in the apartment to a reasonable level is by tightly keeping the curtains shut during the day.

But back to my agile intruder. It didn’t take long before I realized that it wasn’t a fluffy dot of dust, but a real, one-inch in diameter black spider; the kind that makes women scream and jump onto chairs. Not me! No, because although heights give me vertigo and the fact that I’m a complete wimp when it comes to driving a car or diving into water, I’m not afraid of spiders. On the contrary! Don't worry, I would never keep a Tarantula as a pet, but I’d rather have one of those creeping over my arm than performing a Benji jump!

How to I explain this? Very simple; my mother has always been a big fan of spiders. For as long as I can remember I’ve never seen my mother jump with fright at the sight of a spider. When she finds a small spider in the house, she usually carefully picks it up between two fingers and puts it back in its natural habitat, the garden. When it’s a bit out of her league, she’ll try chasing it outside, urging it towards the door using a broom. Only if it won’t cooperate, she will kill it.

I guess I take after her. Small spiders are given a second chance. The large ones, I send to spider heaven. I don’t mind having them around as long as I can see them. But the thought of them walking over me while I’m asleep, doesn’t really appeal to me. Especially not since I’ve read somewhere that during our lives, we swallow at least a hundred insects while sleeping.

Regarding today’s visitor, I took out a broom and swiftly moved it around under the lamp stand under which the spider had disappeared. It didn’t take long before it reappeared, slightly stunned. Being lost for directions it gave me an opportunity to kill it. I won’t tell you how, but it was definitely more efficient than the method my friend used in the eighties when we were staying at a hotel in the Lorraine region in North-eastern France.

While I was changing in the bedroom before going down to have dinner, my friend called out to me to see this two-inch spider sitting in the bath tub. Instead of taking a shoe to kill it, he picked up my hair spray and generously sprayed it on the spider, giving it a completely new and spiky hairdo! But I guess 'punk' was in fashion then, wasn't it?

How do you react and act when you find a spider or any other creepy crawler for that matter in your home?

Summer or Autumn?

It looks as if nature has totally lost control. Since last Monday we're having temperatures in the high 20°C. Temperatures we rarely had in July or August! And more sun, blue skies and warm, dry weather are expected for the next three days. Wednesdays is supposed to bring rain and as from Thursday is should get cooler.

I'm not complaining, but does that mean that Winter will be sudden, hard and long? I hope not. I don't even want to think about it, as I hate Winter, my two favourite seasons being Spring and Autumn.

So here are two photos I shot today, showing you signs of Autumn, while the weather is still Summerish ...

Clear blues skies on October 1st, 2011.
The leaves on this tree are beginning to turn brown, though.

On my way into village: the street littered in beech nuts and their shells
from the old beech tree that has been there for as long as I can remember.

Frank, our weatherman says that we have to go all the way back to 1921 for an Autumn like we are having now. I really hope the weather will hold till my blog friends from the UK are coming to Brussels ... (only three more weeks to go!), so that I can show them our capital in the best possible weather conditions.