I don’t want any relationships, I don’t want to be with anyone; just drink and watch the world go by? Is this then all my life will be? Tonight I plan an epic walk across Brussels, from my hotel all the way to the Justice Palace, and beyond, down to Louise then Rue de Livourne. Stopping off along the way in Club L’Intime and Reves Table Dance. Perhaps. I doubt I will go all that way. Not with this complete lack of enthusiasm which has bedevilled this trip. The skies still bright blue but at street level dusk starting to fall; lamps outside the Hotel Plaza glowing brightly. 845pm. I just want a little nest, where I can be alone with my ferns, and my classical music, and my writing. Perhaps my lethargy & torpor on this trip is sub-consciously because I feel it is nearing the time when I find that little nest for myself and save my money for that.
So this curiously sexless sojourn in Brussels nears its end. Not feeling in the mood for anything naughty at any point. Maybe too anaesthetised with lovely ice cold watery Jupiler beer; maybe too many things to do back at home making me anxious to be back and get on with them; I don’t know. A brief stop in Cine Paris, then up to Rue d’Aerschot—Mariana the pick of the windows again. Her bosoms are extraordinary. But even with her I did not feel at all tempted to stay. A Brussels Grill Steak then back to bed. 8pm now, and I try to prepare to go out again.
The second beer went down quickly; I’m on to the 33cl cans now. That first 50cl can from the shop took forever; but the big cans are 1,50 in the shop and the small cans are 2 euros in the Max vending machine. Intime opens at 9pm, as do the Rue de Livourne places, but Reves doesn’t open till 11pm! Not a big fan of walking the streets of Brussels that late at night; I am really not a late night person anymore. I prefer to go places in the afternoon these days. Although I suppose I could stay in Cine Paris till it closes at 11pm, and then start my long walk from there. 1149am.
A misty Saturday morning, after last night’s rain. Feeling quite maudlin, not sure why. Just my natural state when sober I suppose. The quietest Eurostar I’ve been on for a long time. 756 Saturday morning. Five days of drinking has left me dull, numb, flat. How excited I always feel on the day I arrive. If I had not done something with Inna on the first night I would not have done anything with her all week again. I managed to find some more life on Thursday because of a whole new set of films at Cine Paris, good ones too.
A Simon Mignolet can of Jupiler today. In tribute to the great man I dropped it and spilt it all over the floor, and received terrible abuse (in French) from the cleaning lady. Excuse my French, as my mother used to say, when swearing. Why was swearing known as “French”? Do people say that all over England? Excuse my French? This beer is having no effect on me; it is usual. By the 4th day I am now completely sodden with it, and it has no effect at all. Diminishing returns. On Monday after Inna, I said let me now do something EVERY DAY on this holiday! Well I did nothing Tuesday in Nuremberg or Wednesday back in Brussels, and here we are on the 4th day. And I don’t even have a single memory of what I did even with Inna.
Sweating like a little piggy, sweat running off my face, back in L’Orient Express. 110pm. Hour & a quarter till my train to Nuremberg. I had the idea to leave my big bag in the Max Hotel locker and just travel to Nuremberg with a little bag of essentials. This gave me the freedom to WALK down to Le Coin and Midi. The usual tubby Moroccan girls, all pretty, lurid, with little paunchy stomachs, which is no problem for me; but I don’t think I will EVER do anything here. Just one beer and I was off again. I should have booked an earlier train—this is pointless this wasted 3 hours. Just drinking for nothing.
The lesson I learn is make my life in the small places I enjoy: in the Orient Express, in the Cafe de Dome. Make my whole life in these places, drinking, watching world go by. The big themes that play such a huge part in other people’s lives, relationships, affairs, marriage, children, house, mortgage, mean absolutely nothing to me. What looms so monumentally large over everything in my life is my little bars, where I can drink, and watch the girls go by. A nice little porn cinema, a nice little bar filled with floozies, some window girls to ogle. A nice strip club to finish the night in.