On Squirt Guns and the Mating Behaviour of Hippopotami

“Don’t go around saying the world owes you a living. The world owes you nothing. It was here first.” 

“Wrinkles should merely indicate where the smiles have been.” 

-Mark Twain

Hey guys.

The mini-break is over (in fairness, it ended a few days ago and I just couldn't be bothered to write) and with the Commonwealth Games, the Tour de France, World Matchplay darts and the transfer market in full swing, work has been pretty busy. I had a day off today, and for the next few weeks, my schedule will look roughly the same--work for three or four days, have a day off. No more weekends until I go to Belgium, but it won't get crazy heavy either.

I still hope I get to throw some kind of going away-party, but I reckon it'll be more of a drink as I need to take the train to Brussels around noon on the 17th, and I really don't plan on getting hammered the night before. I seriously don't want to miss that connection, and I'm a terrible drunk.

That going away-party/drink could turn out to be fairly useless, anyway. I had five days off last week, and somehow, I didn't manage to set a single date with friends. I've been getting all sorts of apologies in the last two days, and while I appreciate the gesture, it's really not necessary :) I came to this city six months ago, and from the very start, I explained how I understood you all have lives and social circles here, and how I didn't expect you to just throw all of that on its head to accomodate me. I'm just happy I got to see some of you more frequently, and it's kind of saddening to think that's about to change. I'll come back to London, for sure (I still work here), but it'll happen perhaps once every three months or so. We've already established how hard it can be to find time to meet up :) but again, please don't worry. 

It's kind of scary though. One of the reasons it took me so long to write this particular entry is that the last three or four days weren't so great (today was awesome). I've been looking forward to moving back to Belgium for a long time now, but last week I got really, really scared. I miss my friends and having a normal social life, and I'm really glad that'll change on some level, as I'll most likely be moving into an appartment with one of my best friends in September or October. 

But I've put so much distance between myself and the people I care about in the past six years, both literally and figuratively, and right now I can't help but feel like that distance won't go away with me moving to Belgium. It's so logical, and perhaps just the way life works. My best friend used to be Thomas Robberechts, and we haven't spoken in years. The same goes for Thijs Lombaerts, who I used to ride to school with every day. People come and go, and it's not really a cyclical thing. Once they're gone, they usually stay gone. It's why I chose this London adventure in the first place--I had great difficulty accepting that. I've changed a lot in these past six months (or so I keep telling myself), but I'm still really sucky at letting go, or moving on, or whatever you want to call it. 

I don't know. I just fear I may be opening Pandora's Box all over again. Last year was a disaster, and it took me a very long time to come to terms with everything that happened. I've missed home so much, and I really can't deal with the loneliness any longer. I need to go home, and I'm scared I'll turn back into the guy who left. I hate that guy :) and I really don't want to go that path again.

Today was a good day, however, and maybe that's the difference. There were no good days six months ago :) I still lose hope at times, and there are days my mind wanders back to some very dark places. But there's always the next day, and those few rays of hope that come with it. It's a process, really, one step at a time. 

So, how did I spend my time off? The weather has been pretty insane here in London, but  I've been told it was much the same back at home. Heat in London is the worst, as the Tubes don't have airconditioning and there's so many people living in such close quarters. Some kids had the biggest watergun fight I've ever seen just outside the building last week, and I really wish I could have joined in (no gun, and I'm roughly twice as old as the oldest person I saw wielding a pistol). 

I gave a tiny guided tour of London to an elderly German lady who was waiting for her daughter's school trip to end, and that was nice. I just had to see Tower Bridge when it was open, and that's sort of how it started. Failed to set a date for a West End show (Tim Minchin's Matilda, obviously), but it's still on the schedule. Today I went to the Docklands and Canary Wharf, and I checked out the Doctor Who museum and the adjecent shop. Just getting there was expensive, and seriously, that shop is way overpriced. So, naturally, I spent roughly a week's pay in that thing. I now have a very impractical Doctor Who wallet, and I already regret buying it.

I also checked out the Earls Court Tardis, and I thought it was even cooler. Technically it's just an ordinary police box, but still. Right in the centre of an afluent West-London neighbourhood, with thousands of people passing it every day. Honestly, it took the cake for me.

I'll try and put down a bit of practical information for my return the next time. I'll have two days off after I get back home before I start work, and as luck would have it, my parents will be leaving on their holiday the day after I return. So yeah, I'm leaving London because I miss everyone back at home, and I'll be spending my first two weeks back on my own. Because duh.

Lastly, I need to end this entry on a sad note. A couple of days ago it was brought to my attention that one of my favourite teachers had died, and I had no idea. His name was Willy Wuyts, and he taught me Dutch and Drama for two years at the Don Bosco Institute in Haacht (I also think he sat in during some of our Latin classes, but I'm not sure). He was already quite old when I was at that school, and he looked like a freaking rockstar, with his suits, leather coats, long grey hair and fancy sports car. He was everyone's favourite teacher and an incredible writer (he actually won several really big awards, something most of us never knew I guess), but what I'll remember most was his insane ability to come up with the most creative punishments imaginable.

My favourite anecdote will always be the time when he made David Pons give a 10 minute oral presentation on the mating behaviour of the male hippopotamus. David was forced to write a two-page paper on "Why he felt the need to utter the sounds a horny, deranged giraffe makes" during the first lesson of the day (Drama), and I don't remember what he did in the afternoon (during Dutch), but it was ultimately changed to an essay and oral presentation the next day. As a 13-year-old, you simply can't imagine how funny it was to hear an elderly teacher tell a classmate he would be forced to spend the entire evening researching hippopotami (hippopotamuses?) and how they court females.

Mr Wuyts unexpectedly died earlier this year, and while it would have been nearly impossible for me to attend his funeral, I would have moved heaven and earth to at least try. Thanks for everything, Mr Wuyts. You're one of the few people who had a much bigger impact on me than they will ever realise. I'll leave you with an excerpt of the elegy, written by one of his former colleagues (Dutch):

"Het zal er niet meer van komen, Willy. Maar mag ik jou dan toch nog één dingetje vragen?

Als ik op een avond alweer voor een leeg blad zit, worstelend om de juiste woorden of invalshoeken te vinden, wil je dan – alsjeblief – stilletjes op mijn schouder komen zitten en me die juiste tips in mijn oor fluisteren die anders nog zeker uit jouw gouden pen waren gevloeid."

-Herman Moons

Song of the Day: Edith Piaf - La Vie En Rose

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFzViYkZAz4

On Time Off and Physical Limitations

“Never say goodbye, because goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting.” 
-J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


A bit of a shorter entry today, just to keep you guys in the loop. I really don't have very much to talk about--working pretty much non-stop until yesterday. I just started a bit of a mini-break, having five consecutive days off. The World Cup is over, but I've been running most of our Tour de France coverage and the British Open is about to start (that's golf, fyi). So yeah, we're staying busy :) Premier League action starts in little over a month I think, and the transfer window is heating up, so along with Test cricket and the Tour, I guess that's most of what I do these days.

So, five days off. I need to get some laundry done and I'm in dire need of a haircut (I currently have a neck beard. I do not look good with a neck beard), but I do plan on spending most of my time exploring London and doing some of the things I've yet to do. West End shows, that kind of stuff. I'd love to check out the National Gallery as well, and go to Greenwich Park (and the Meridian Line. Duh). 

I got a bit frustrated today, and I'm sorry if you caught that. A friend of mine noticed how certain things seem to keep happening around me some time back, and I'm starting to think she's right. I was on my way to the supermarket today and when I rounded the corner at White City Station, there was a bloody cyclist lying in the middle of the road with some people gathered around him. Hit-and-run, and he was in pretty bad shape. The police arrived within minutes, followed closely by an ambulance, so in the end, I did very little other than check his breathing and put pressure on a nasty head wound. His collar bone was gone and his knee looked bad, but the biggest issue were a lack of responsiveness or consciousness and a ton of lacerations (and the head wound, obviously). It's pretty hot in London right now and he was riding his 2.000 pound bike without a helmet or a shirt, which is basically asking for trouble.

Anyway, I checked whether he was responsive and when he wasn't I checked for breathing. Once that was done I did very little other than keep pressure on the head wound and wait for the ambulance to arrive. Once I got home (so much for the supermarket) I got really upset because, like I said, this always seems to happen to me. But then again, I'd rather have it happen to me, perhaps. At least I trained to be a lifeguard. It'd be nice not having to put that particular skillset to good use all the time, but really, everyone should have some basic lifesaving skills. Someone please get that on a school curriculum.

That's probably the most exciting thing that happened this week. I played football (the American version) at Putney with some friends, and that was awesome. I hadn't gone full-speed since the thigh-injury that got me to quit football when I was in my first year of university, and it was just so much fun to be playing again. I was terrible, dropped two open passes ( a button and out-route), but I also caught two TD's and threw one myself on a 20-yard corner route. Only gave up two catches all day, and Team Europe comfortably beat Team USA/AUS, so go us! 

The next day I was more sore than I've ever been in my life, and it lasted for days. Which confirms two things: I'm getting old, and I am really not in football shape. I've been working out quite a bit since I got to London (though June-July was a disaster, I only got to go to the gym twice in six weeks), but it's really not the same as sprinting and cutting. London's great for running though, so I'm trying to do a bit of that on a regular basis now (I hate running. It's so dull). Once I get back to Belgium I need to find myself a swimming pool. Swimming is way more fun than running.

The apartment search might turn out to be way easier than expected, so that's nice. I really need to figure out how to get my stuff back in Belgium (FedEx might be an option at this point), but I'm on a holiday right now, so there's plenty of time. 

I guess that's it for now. I'll make sure to write a thorough update once my mini-break is over (you know, because I'm actually doing stuff worthy of writing about), although I wouldn't be expecting too much if I were you.

Have a good one guys, and I'll see you all real soon.



Song of the Day: Some badass rock-'n-roll. The Peoples Temple-Keeper (Of Souls)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NiVNyxWw_64

And one more, because this **** is groovy: Crystal Stilts: Shake the Shackles
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPiuynEpq1g

On Announcements and Coming Full Circle

“Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.”
“If, then, I were asked for the most important advice I could give, that which I considered to be the most useful to the men of our century, I should simply say: in the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work, look around you.” 
-Leo Tolstoy


I don't really know how to start this entry. I've been meaning to write all of this down for months, and I've probably written this blog a thousand times already. And yet, now that I'm actually typing, it's somehow hard to piece it all together. It's life's greatest irony--things always sound so much better in our heads.

When I made the decision to leave my home some nine months ago, I was in a bad place. 2013 had been a rough year for me, and I was stuck in a dead-end job I hated, living a life I hated. I could see my entire future mapped out in front of me, and it was dreary. I was lost, and I needed to find myself again. I spent months looking for reasons to stay, and to my great shame, I couldn't find any. Yes, there was family, and there were friends. Yet somehow, it didn't feel like it was enough. I was angry with myself for thinking that way, and I felt like the most ungrateful piece of sh*t in the world. 

But after months of deliberation, I realised none of it mattered. Not my reasoning or my motivation, and not even the causes for my predicament. I just needed a fresh start. I was losing myself quickly, and something needed to be done. People always tell you to follow your dreams, and the best I could come up with was a move to a great city I'd always loved--London.

Moving scared the crap out of me. Not the actual move, and all of the worries that come with it. I was so scared I was making the wrong decision, choosing the wrong path. People like to tell you nothing is final, and even the gravest of mistakes can be undone. In reality, that often isn't the case. I talked things through with my dad for hours, and in the end, we concluded this was something I needed to do. I wasn't the man I wanted to be, as grotesque as that may sound. But I felt like I needed saving. So I switched careers, told everyone I was leaving and convinced myself it was all for the best. A new life, in a new place.

I think it took me two entries into this blog to correct that vision. London has been quite the experience, but from day one, it didn't feel as permanent as I had told myself (and everyone around me) it would be. There's no such thing as a new life.

Two months ago I went back to Belgium for the first time. It was a total, unmitigated disaster, and when I got back to London I was an emotional wreck. I was about halfway through my tennancy agreement, but in truth, I had already been thinking about my next destination for a while.

Don't get me wrong, I love this city. And I absolutely love my job. But I never particularly enjoyed the life I have here. It's not that things weren't what I was expecting. But looking around me, I realised that on some level I was still doing what I've always done: Run away. And as time passed, I noticed a change in me. For the first time in 25 years, I realised I have no idea what the future looks like. But I know what I want it to look like. And this isn't it.

So I talked with my dad, and told him I was considering coming home. And my old man, in all his wisdom, gave me the exact same advice he gave me the day we decided it was best I would come to London. He told me to follow my gut, because whatever it was I decided on, all he wanted was for me to be happy. 

And then a funny thing happened. I had three options: 1) Stay, 2) Sign for an additional six months and see what Christmas is like down here or 3) Come home in August. And as I started to look for reasons to stay, all I could think of were reasons to come home. Hundreds of them. The very reasons I couldn't see six months prior, when I decided on a move to the Big Smoke.

So yeah, my parents have already known this for quite some time, but consider this my official announcement: I'm coming home. If I convinced you this move would be permament six months ago and this announcement upsets you in any way--I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, and I truly didn't think this would happen when I boarded the bus that brought me here.

I don't know if I'm a different person from the one that moved here in February, but I think I am. Moving to London wasn't a mistake, or I don't see it that way at least. Sure, it cost me a lot of money, but that's just money. I couldn't care less. But these past six months have taught me a lot, and they've made me see the world in a different light. More importantly, they've made me realise what it is I want out of life. And no, we can't always get what we want. But the least we can do is try, and in my case, I know I don't want my future to play out in this place. I'm done running away.

Moving back is going to be a major nuisance. I already moved to this place in two tries, so I have far too much stuff to move in one go. I may also have sort of bought a ton of books while I was here, so I literally have no idea what to do (my father is suggesting I rent a car and drive home. First time left-handed shifting and driving on the wrong side of the motorway in the heart of London? No thanks). If anyone is still looking for a guided tour of London, I'd be happy to oblige, providing you travel to London with room to spare in your luggage. 

You also better be fast. My tennancy agreement runs out on the 17th of August, and I've already taken time off work to facilitate a move.

This isn't the end of my London experience, however. I still work for a company based here (yes, I found a way to keep that job) and in order to keep my British papers in order, I'll still have to spend quite a bit of time here, so there'll be plenty of time for beer and fun with any colleagues or London-based friends reading this. Except of course Elise, who is moving to New York. Which probably means I can't store any of my leftover stuff at your place until I come back to London for the first time. Any of the books I can't fit in my luggage are yours by the way, if you'll have them.

I plan on enjoying my last month in London, and see as much of the city as possible before I go. London is far too big to experience in a month, or a year, or even a lifetime. But it doesn't hurt to try. That said, I can't even begin to explain how much I am looking forward to coming home.  And yeah, I fully realise that's the exact opposite of what I said during the final two months before I came here, or the first few months I spent as a citizen of the United Kingdom. But we've come a long way since then. 

When I left for this place I was lost, going through some very hard times and in dire need of a change. And I found myself here. Even if that's all I've accomplished in the last six months, it was worth it. We have a choice between the life we have and the life we want, and life is far too short to choose the former. The life I have here isn't all that great, and the life I had back at home before wasn't either. But you know what? The next one will be different.

As for this blog, it was always meant to be a way for me to stay in touch with my friends and family, so I guess I won't be needing it any longer. I'm going home, and for the first time in ages, I understand what that means. Gianni is no longer In Transit. Then again, the vast majority of my readership is somehow American, with the United Kingdom coming in second and you Belgians only managing a measly third (for shame). So we'll see how it goes.

Goddamnit, this is not the kind of announcement I had intended to write. Better in your head, you know. You're all still very welcome here in London, if you ever feel like getting away for a day or two. UK readers--obviously I'm not leaving without a bang, and I'd love to see as much of you as possible over the course of these next five weeks. 

So yeah, I guess that's it for now. Let me leave you with a famous Londoner: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1A_rF0SKj6g#t=387


Song of the Day: I know I've already put this up on my Facebook wall, and I don't care. It's SO good. 
James Blake - Retrograde
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XClvMMxBg1k

On Annie's Boobs and Neighbours

“I love tunnels. They 're the symbol of hope: sometime it will be bright again. 
If by chance it is not night.” 
Paul Mercier, Night Train To Lisbon

Hey guys,

I was in a foul mood today due to the U.S. Supreme Court's ruling stating corporations' religious rights are apparently more important than women's health, but fortunately, the news we might get our #sixseasonsandamovie after all (apologies Elise, I know you hate hash-tags) somewhat brightened my day. It's odd how a simple TV show can actually cheer me up, but then again, my imagination has pulled me through difficult situations more than once. Case in point--Once Upon A Time's season three-finale, which I just finished watching (and it was pretty brilliant). I also just made it through Paul Mercier's Night Train To Lisbon, and if you like the works of Carlos Ruiz Zafon, i'd recommend it. I don't have much time for reading these days, but I'm glad I'm able to make some.

Speaking of television, my flatmate (and next-door neighbour, I have seven flatmates in total) started watching Friday Night Lights and he's become obsessed with it, literally watching 10 episodes/day (he's a student, so he has a lot of time on his hands right now). He wants to talk about it constantly, which is kind of annoying, but at the same time, it means I'm working with Explosions in the Sky in the background, so that's pretty nice.

As a sports fan (and journo) I have to reflect on the NBA and NHL draft for a second (I'll make it brief). I'm a Celtics and Sabres fan, and as they both s*ck bigtime, it translated to high draft picks and potentially franchise-altering talent. I like Marcus Smart and I liked him at six, but with Noah Vonleh on the board and the Celtics already fielding a guard who can't shoot and in need of an athletic big who can score, I was kind of upset they didn't go that way. I do love the James Young pickup, however, and even though Rodney Hood probably would have qualified as more of an impact player, I think Young has better long-term potential. At 17, that's good value.

We all knew Buffalo was getting Sam Reinhart. He's smart, has great vision and a high hockey IQ. Safe pick, and the franchise is in need of offensive talent anyway. So yeah, liked that selection.

I'm working 4-12 shifts almost every day right now (July is a lot less busy), so apart from having a fairly nocturnal lifestyle, I usually start prepping for work right about when my neighbours' kids come home. They're great, but as my neighbour is currently in rehab, her sister is having a rough time dealing with the both of them and her everyday life simultaneously. They also eat Fruit Loops for breakfast, so they're crazy active for about two hours before they crash back down to Earth.

Anyway, I've been spending quite some time with those two little brats the past week, when they get back from school. My building is very Caribbean and so are my neighbours, and while they speak perfect English, they revert back to Creole as soon as they get home. Thankfully I picked up a word or two during my time in Tobago, and I'm a fast learner. It's just really rewarding to help out any way I can, and really, Suzy and Laura are pretty awesome. I come from a big family (which underwent a LOT of changes, as strange as that may sound) and because of it, I really never had a chance to watch my younger syblings grow up. There was just always something to be done around the house and I wanted nothing more than to find my corner of privacy amongst all the shouting.

As soon as I finished high school, I made a dash for France and a lifestyle as a surf coach. Six year down the road, the relationships with my siblings have changed. I love all of them dearly, but I often feel like I let them down in a way. Particularly my little brother, who looked up to me as if I was some kind of hero, an example to live up to. He's 16 now, getting ever closer to becoming a man. I love him, and I'm proud of him :) I hope he knows this, but I think he does. And if he doesn't, I'll make sure I change that.

Of course, I also have one younger sister I haven't spoken to in years. It's a sad story, really (and one I will not share in this entry), but for various reasons, she broke with our side of the family. The decision wasn't hers at first (she was too young)), but after years of waiting for a sign of life, you start to wonder whether she's even aware she has siblings, and a mother who cares for her deeply. I like to believe nothing is permanent, and people will find each other again. But after such a long time, you start to think maybe you're just living a fantasy, clinging onto memories that are no more than just that--memories.

Boy, this is getting dreary. 

I miss the ocean. Like, a ton. I can't believe it's been 10 months since I've last entered the water, and it's killing me. During my work breaks I find myself fleeing to Marinelayerproductions and the likes, and I've actually re-watched Dane Reynolds' First Chapter and Sterling Spencer's Surf Madness in the past few days. Surf porn is awesome (Fergal Smith's Growing series brightens my day everytime I flick it on (his quiver-episode is the best)), but it's poison when you're land-locked. 

It's just really frustrating to know so many of my friends are currently in France or Spain, living the life I left behind. London isn't all that great, and you start to wonder whether perhaps you belong down there, with those guys. Last season was a disaster, and things got pretty dark, but really, my surfing friends did everything possible to make me feel better, and for all of the bad times, there were a ton of laughs and great evenings as well. Most of all, there were a lot of great sessions shared with great friends. And yeah, I do miss that. Waking up at first light after a long night of partying for a morning session, diving into the surf 30 minutes before sunset to steal a few last waves with like-minded individuals--so many people will never understand how beautiful it can be. In many ways, I grew up on the beach. The summer seasons made me who I am, for better or worse. And as much as I blame surfing for some of the absolute worst things that have happened to me (because we all need a scapegoat), I formed some of my best memories on the coasts of the Basque Country. 

Elise is currently in Belgium with Conrad, her boyfriend, and reading his status-updates is absolutely hilarious. It's odd to think a country like Belgium can surprise an Englishman in many ways, but apparently it can (though, tbf, I had no idea you could in fact get fresh strawberries from a vending machine in Nieuwenrode). Conrad, if you read this--I hope you truly enjoy your time there, and I sincerely hope you're not too shocked at some of the customs (most notably the man-on-man kissing, though Elise's family is more Dutch than Belgian, so I reckon you're good).

Okay, that'll have to do for now. Like I said, my work schedule is getting a bit lighter so I'll (hopefully) have more to write about in the next few entries. Glancing over my notes I should have a good one coming up (the U.S. Supreme Court and Community decides otherwise today), but I don't like making promises I might not be able to keep.

Let's all hope Belgium kicks some American ass tomorrow (today, actually, it's nearly 3 a.m. BST).

Take care everyone.


Song of the Day: This one of for one of my favourite surfing buddies.
The Postal Service - We Will Become Silhouettes
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCIx6HUpVs0

Added Bonus: Some Japandroids https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3KtKAySDBs

On We Need Girlfriends and Passing Time

"And the rain won't make any difference?
-No."
-Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell To Arms

Hey guys.

As I stated last time around, this blog isn't really going anywhere at this point. I'm not finding the time to write, but even worse, my words elude me. I'm having a hard time just sitting down and writing, and when I go through my notes, I can't seem to find anything useful. That's not to say nothing happens to me--although, in fairness, little does. Life sort of drags along, and I'm sure the World Cup has something to do with that. Then again, maybe I'm looking for cheap excuses.

In fact, I think I am. Over the past few months I've been having this same recurring thought, and I can't seem to shake it. Perhaps I should--I should just act on it. But I can't, and I don't want to. I know it sounds ridiculously sad and almost pathetic, but right now, I'm not living. I'm surviving. I work, I go to the shop to buy food and drinks, I work out and I'll read or watch TV to relax. That's basically what my life looks like right now, and it's so incredibly sad. I know it's temporary--it is. The World Cup has transformed me into a nocturnal creature, effectively destroying what was left of my social life, but it'll pass.

I'm currently talking to the company I work for and the people I work with regarding the future. I've been getting a lot of feedback in the past few weeks, from both my editors and the powers that be. Everyone seems very excited about my contributions, and I really like my job. I realise I'm just producing sports news--It's not rocket science or the next great novel. It's not important, but it's what I do. And I'm more than okay with that. As far as job satisfaction goes, it's on par with being a surf instructor and lightyears beyond the other menial jobs I once had.

But at the same time, I realise it's just a job. It doesn't define who I am, and if push comes to shove, I will never choose my job over my own happiness. I truly hope it won't come to that, because it took me a long time to find a form of employment I'd feel comfortable with doing for the foreseeable future. And I'm good at it. I may just be a sportswriter, or a breaking news writer, but I'm a good writer. I know it's usually not reflected in the quality of this blog, but then again, I prefer to have a glass of wine (or scotch) sitting next to me when I write this steaming pile of garbage.

Soit. As much as I'd like to go all emo-Gianni on you folks, it's not what you'd want to read at this given time and I haven't written you in ages (for yes indeed, I'm still writing you and not just treating this blog as my personal diary. That is one piece of writing you'd rather not encounter). So, let's dive into what life has looked like in the past week.

Yes, I'm am angry at what happened with my beloved Azzurri today. They didn't deserve qualification for the round of 16, but neither did Uruguay. Not after everything that went down today. You've read all about it already (or you will), so I won't go any deeper into this. For once, it now seems Belgium will be the team I'm rooting for during the knockout stages, and the USA would be another favoured team should they qualify (that last-minute goal was seriously painful). Sports are awesome, people, and this World Cup has delivered.

A friend of mine was looking for a new TV show to binge-watch a couple of days ago, so naturally she reached out to me. I ranked some of the usual suspects and a couple of the shows I'm currently watching, and she was particularly intrigued by Community (duh), Suits (they wear suits and the soundtrack is SO good) and Once Upon A Time (who doesn't like fairy tales?). But then I suggested We Need Girlfriends.

Now, WNG has a special place in my heart. It's a very low-budget, simple Youtube series that only ran for one season, and you can go through all of the 10 episodes in less than one hour. It's your basic amateur film-maker project, but when I was 17 or 18 years old, I loved it. And I still can't figure out why. It was so low-budget and so bad, and yet it was awesome. I remember the disappointement I felt when the series finally was pushed back by a month because they couldn't get the budget working, and I still have my two T-shirts (Team Henry and Squirrel, the most unexpected birthday presents I ever received). It's truly awesome and well worth a watch. It grows on you, as the first few episodes are weird, kind of dull and ridiculously short (the first episode is like four minutes long). Once you get to the Myspace episode (yes, it's that old) or Rod vs Henry, it gets so, so awesome. In fact, here's the trailer. And here's the epic trailer for the second part of the series. And just for fun: Romance Advice With Rod (I am such a fanboy).

Because WNG is just a webseries and none of the actors actually ever made it (except for Patrick Cohen, who plays Tom and had a cameo as a waiter somewhere but I can't quite remember, I think it was Flight of the Conchords), these guys are just out there these days. I loved Seth Kirchner (Team Henry) but he's not on Twitter as far as I know, though for some reason I added Brandon Bass (Rod) and Steven Tsapelas (creator) when I first got into the whole social media thing. Now, Steven Tsapelas actually started following me when he saw I recommended his show to someone, and we started talking. Turns out he lost his Team Henry shirt a while back (though he still owns a Team Rod shirt), so it's actually quite possible (and fairly likely, as no one really gives a sh*t) I am the only person on this planet with a Team Henry shirt. Which is awesome. Yes, I am telling you this because it was the highlight of my week. To put it in Better Off Ted terms: Deal with it.

My God, I truly am a nerd.

I could write essays about Once Upon A Time, something I started watching because I made a deal with someone (and I'm 99% certain she didn't hold up her end). I'm not going to go into what season was best (or worst) and how cool it is they decided to push their show into my favourite fairy tale (I'll always have a weak spot for J.M. Barrie), but one of my favourite things to do when watching is picking up on all the LOST references. You see, this show is made by the creators of that work of art, and they brought most of their crew (and some of the cast) with them. From MacCutcheon Whisky over Ajira air to Apollo candybars, the Exposé TV show and even Hurley, it's just filled with so much goodness for people like me, who grew up looking forward to the next LOST episode, something me and my friends would talk about for hours in school.

Half of this blog is about TV. This is bad.

Anyway, they're making Hector And The Search For Happiness into a film and it has Simon Pegg, so that's something to look forward to. The group stages for the World Cup are nearly over and my work schedule for July is a bit lighter, so I'll hopefully have a bit more time to actually live. One of the few friends I have in this place will be in Belgium the coming days, so if you'd like to send me something, you could always try to get in touch with Elise (I'm sure she'll appreciate me putting this out there). Don't bother getting me some Pepper and Salt chips--she's already taking care of that. Elise, should you forget, you'd be in deep trouble. Just so you know.

Before I go, I'd once again like to ask the people planning on coming to London to share your plans with me. Work-wise it'd be convenient, but I should also really start planning my summer. So please, if you read this, let me know. Honestly, don't hesitate to reach out either way. It seems like all I do is work these days--it'd be nice to know how you guys are actually doing. If you're studying, ignore what I just said. In fact, close this sh*te right now and return to your books immediately. Remember, if you don't you could end up like me.

Take care everyone. I miss you all dearly.


Song of the Day: TOPS - Evening
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPogFKSrYg8

On Father's Day and Nightmares

[A writer] must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid
-William Faulkner


Happy belated Father's Day, everyone. I'd like to think I've learned many things during my time in London, and one of those things is that the rest of the world apparently celebrates Father's Day on the third Sunday of June, whereas the Belgians celebrate one week earlier. So I may or may not have kept my father waiting a full week for his wishes. I'm sorry dad. I'm glad we got to make it up with a Skype session, despite my insane work schedule. I love my dad, and not having the opportunity to sit with him and share a cup of coffee is one of the things I miss most here in The Big Smoke.

Some good news -- our neighbour checked into rehab. Her sister is currently taking care of the kids, and she's a really nice person (her name is Shirley and I talk to her every day). The kids don't seem to miss their mother all that much, which perhaps is a little sad, but it's good to know she's at least trying to get her life in order.

Now, I have to be completely honest with you. These last few days have been rough. Work has been very busy, as you might have imagined, and there have been times where I was just physically spent. Outside of my working hours there's just so much time spent on watching the World Cup, helping colleagues with their pieces and so much more. But really, work hasn't been the issue. For some reason, I'm just not feeling well, ill at ease. Something is wrong, and I can't seem to figure out what it is. I don't often get cranky, but there have been times I wanted to strangle a little kid for screaming too much in the past days. Little things like that, and I don't know why.

I've been having a lot of nightmares lately. It started a few weeks after I came to London, and for a while, it seemed to be getting better. I don't really remember ever having nightmares growing up, just the occasional bad dream. A month or so ago I thought I was starting to get over it, but they returned a week or two ago and haven't stopped ever since. And not just bad dreams--full on nightmares, and waking up sweating and screaming after just a few hours of sleep. Once or twice a week at first, but now it's every single night, and it doesn't stop. I'm almost scared to go to bed. I'll wake up and remember everything vividly for a few hours, before the memories finally start to fade. By the time I sit down to write about them, it's all gone. I've hastily made a couple of notes, but they don't make any sense. It only adds to the short nights I'm already facing (a by-product of working night shifts is that daylight tends to wake you up earlier than you'd want), and maybe that's why I feel like I'm struggling right now, losing my grip on things.

I set out to write a nice little piece today, just to let you all know how I was doing, and I wanted to have a look forward to tomorrow's slate of fixtures in the World Cup, which will see the Belgian Red Devils return to the grand stage for the first time since 2002. I'm sure people are excited back at home, but I just don't feel like writing about it. In fact, I don't feel like writing at all. Perhaps that's a lie--I want to write, I want to share, but somehow the words won't come out. Which must come as quite the surprise to the people who know me well.

I'm sorry, I really am. You all took the time to click this link and see how I was doing, and as a reward, all you got was this. I wish I could promise you I'd get my thoughts in order and have another go at it soon, but with the World Cup schedule as it is, it's highly unlikely.

So here's a tiny hamster eating a tiny burrito (h/t to John Oliver): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JOCtdw9FG-s


Song of the Day: The Ink Spots - If I Didn't Care
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UC_VzbtRGr0

On Fighting and Grown Men Chasing Balls

“These woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.” 
-Robert Frost

Hey guys :)

This will be another short entry I'm afraid, as I just finished one of the few day-shifts I have this month. Most of the time I work nights, and I hardly feel like writing after one of those shifts--I just want to watch some TV and go to sleep. As I mentioned before, the schedule I'm working in June is heavy. Apart from the World Cup there's the US Open of Golf, Roland Garros, Wimbledon, the World Cup of Hockey, the F1 season, the 24 Hours of Le Mans, the Rugby Challenge Cup, the PDC World Darts Championships, the Belmont Stakes and so on... There's just an awful lot of sports going on. 

It's been great, though, and not as demanding as I had initially feared. Don't get me wrong--it's tough. I just thought I'd be more mentally challenged and searching for words, as opposed to just being physically knackered. Maybe I'm growing as a writer, or maybe I'm just getting more used to the pace. Either way, it's a great experience.

You can sense the World Cup is right around the corner in the streets. Everyone's selling flags and face paint and all that crap, and people are buzzing with excitement. White City's multicultural status is very visible, with more foreign flags attached to cars than English ones. Algeria seems to be the preferred team around here, so I'll just keep my being Belgian to myself for now.

I've only just recovered from the flu, an illness that was brought into our appartment last week. Living in close quarters with eight people means it was inevitable for everyone to get ill at some point, and I too couldn't escape. It's all good though--after three days that weren't as bad as they could have been I was feeling all better. 

Unfortunately I got into a bit of a fight on the first day after I had recovered. I have to specify: I broke up a fight, and people didn't appreciate that. Luckily the police were right around the corner, and I was free to go after a couple of questions.

What happened was this: An old lady (50-ish, five-foot-nothing) got vocally upset over the fact the woman standing in line in front of her appeared to have just one basket of groceries in the supermarket. When it was her turn, however, she invited over her husband who had two full carts of stuff, and I swear to God, it took them over 20 minutes to unload all of that crap. Now I couldn't be bothered, but had I known the situation woud play out like that, I'd have picked a different queue. 

The lady felt the same way, and she wanted the couple to know. She told them several times and asked them to refrain from similar behaviour in the future, and the husband clearly didn't care for her message. I told the lady not to bother, as the guy clearly felt like he did nothing wrong and more words wouldn't achieve anything. She agreed, but went back at it 30 seconds later (I have to point out there were several more people standing in the same queue echoing my sentiments).

Out of nowhere, the husband suddenly hit her. Right in the face. This was an old lady I could have lifted with three fingers, and he smacked her right across the face. I have never been a fighter and I didn't feel like becoming one, but at this point I had to intervene. I'm not sure why I thought he would just comply if I held him back, but I did. Naturally, that's not what happened--he came at me. His wife didn't seem to mind her husband was beating an old lady, and I just lost it. I'm not going to go into detail over what happened next because I'm not particularly proud of it, and I am very happy other people intervened in a timely manner. This supermarket is stationed in a shopping centre so both security and the police arrived quickly, and once they came in the lights inside my head went back on.

Long story short, the dozens of people standing around agreed all I had done was protect an old lady, who came out of the entire ordeal relatively unscathed. The same goes for the guy, who if I may be so bold got lucky people actually intervened. Again, I feel bad over what happened and I'm not proud of it. But I will not stand for grown men hitting an old lady over a row in the supermarket. Not under any circumstances. 

Thus concludes the tale of how I punched a guy in the supermarket. London is funny guys.

I've given surfboard advice to two different persons in the past 24 hours, so it must be summer again. I haven't actually seen the ocean since August of last year and realistically speaking I can no longer call myself a surfer, but people apparently haven't gotten the memo yet. I'm still hoping I might be able to find some time to travel down to France for a week and see some old friends again (my 5'6'' Broadsword being one of them), but it's unlikely. For some reason my mind has wandered to Dominic quite a bit in these last few days (when I wasn't working at least), and I'm just not sure how I'd cope with that once I get near the water. Maybe it would be a fitting way to honour my old friend. Maybe I'm making way too much of this.

By the way, I had to write about J-Lo again today. This confirms we've entered the period we refer to as the 'funny season,' unless Turner Media was bought out by TMZ. In which case I'll be handing in my letter of resignation on the spot.

I hope you're all doing great. I'm sorry if I haven't been very communicative since I got back from Belgium (I haven't Skyped with my dad in weeks) but things have just been insanely busy. Know that I still think of you constantly, and please don't hesitate to reach out. You might not get an answer instantly, but you'll get it sooner or later.

I wish you all a happy World Cup, and I hope to God everyone survived the Belgian supercell I've been reading about. It's been nothing but clear skies and t-shirt weather down here I'm afraid. 

Good night y'all. Talk soon.


Song of the Day: Let's go for a change of tune and bring in an absolute classic featuring one of the best guitar riffs (and intros) ever written. 
Carry on Wayward Son - Kansas
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2X_2IdybTV0