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.
I either stay here in L’Orient Express the whole time then go back to the station and get my train to Koln/Berlin, or I leave here for a couple of beers in Le Coin then come back. Oh I would love to have one of these young, busty, nubile curvy Belgian girls one day. Frankly my chance has gone. Camilla’s “I’m 21” still haunts me. The great miracle of my life—I’ve never seen a traffic accident in Brussels. The most f—ked up traffic of any city I have ever been to, I cannot believe I have never seen a collision between vehicles. This ice cold Jupiler is slipping down ridiculously easily, I don’t think I will be going anywhere else. Pissed as a newt I’ll board the train for Berlin, and arrive like a pickled onion 8 hours from now.
Olympique Marseille v Bordeaux on the Orient Express TV—Christ, French football is so slow & boring. No wonder PSG win the league by 20 points every year. The sun is about 1 minute away from going down behind the Midi railway tracks, and out of my eyes at least. My train to Nuremberg is not until 10.25 in the morning so at least I should be able to have a long sleep tonight. I need it. I don’t know how French football supporters don’t slash their wrists; this is dire. Barmaid just brought another beer to my table, I didn’t even ask. Well, that decides it; I am having one more then, it seems! It is supposed to rain tonight; that would be lovely; but no sign of it right now. Now the crowd at the football match are rioting. Out of sheer f–king boredom, I expect. As I have been for most of my time here, I am the only customer in L’Orient Express.
The firemen (?) and policemen are having no success in getting her to move from the Orient Express’s outside table. They are trying to reason with her but she is in another world. The Jupiler is at least ice cold, as it always is here. I must admit I was HOPING to find soldiers outside my hotel; and a large police & army presence around Gare du Midi. 720pm already. Still bright evening—the grey cloud passed. Better make a move if I want to get up to Cine Paris and 5th Avenue before they close. Maybe one more only. What I expect? 5th to be absolutely dire. No quality whatsoever. Le Coin is closer but I understand they close early, perhaps already. I think the old lady is loving the attention of all these policemen & firemen, and has no intention of moving. The blazing sun is slowly setting. Would rather wait for a bit of darkness before leaving. I’m sure I was a vampire in another life. SUCH a long walk up to Cine Paris and 5th Avenue, and such a long walk back. But I have to do something on my first night in Brussels surely. I need to be drunk enough that I don’t mind the long walk. Empire open around 9 I suppose—just 90 minutes away now.
Drama in the L’Orient Express as some crazy old bag lady is demanding to be served and refusing to leave. Physically fighting with the manager to resist being thrown out. Now she’s tripped over the step trying to come in and the manager rushes to help her up. Not in the mood for anything at all. A yellow Pompiers van is trying to take the old lady away now, with a white police van standing alongside; the policeman standing outside his van puffing on a fag, Brussels-style. The old lady is a helpless case. Completely pathetic—not in the rude way, but pitiful; you feel pity for her. Drunk, or on drugs, or just lost her mind, or all three. She is probably looking at me thinking the same thing.