Watching some footage about our venerable leader Julia Gillard in Brussels at its historic centre, the memories came flooding back.
I had returned from a trip to Russia and had just finished painting the exterior of a house owned by Timothy Healy Hutchinson’ to help pay for the trip. (A bit of name dropping might be justified here, lifting PA to new heights)
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/finance/2931996/Business-profile-Aristocrat-who-can-spot-a-good-title.html
The house was situated in London’s Sheppard’s Bush, where the three story terrace needed the hiring of an enormous 60ft ladder, which the raising of it to its full height was helped by a man who, to my utter surprise, stopped his car, got out all dressed in a suit and tie, and helped me hoist the ladder up. He then, without a word as much, returned to his car and continued his journey. This ladder came in three parts with lots of pulleys and ropes and made of course from aluminium, still weighing a lot.
Little did I know at the time that this would be the closest I would ever get close to literary fame.
But I regress. Back to Brussels where I had arrived with backpack and advice to potter about Brussels before catching a plane back to the delights of domesticity and The Inner West in Australia. The very hall where Gillard was filmed is also the centre of the world’s culinary delights. I don’t care about opinions from anyone or any Master Chef; Brussels is it when it comes to artistry of manipulating simple potatoes and salty prawns.
The amazing part of it is that the best of morsels, especially sea food morsels, are offered on silver platters, held by white coated ‘ garcon’ out on the streets in front of the restaurants, for anyone to taste and perhaps decide to come in and order a meal afterwards. Perhaps this delightful cultural procedure doesn’t exist anymore but at that time I took advantage of it, even to the extent of going full circle and honing in on another lot. It would certainly be helpful in case of being homeless or destitute. Would you not have done the same? Would you have gone back to your hotel room, changed your shirt and try look different and gone back for more? Be honest.
It was so nice an experience, and totally gratis…
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 
There has been been some relaxation of backpacking and boating rules in Australia recently as I understand it a number of refugees have been released to live in the community while their applications for residency are processed. Talk about a relief from worry for the conditions they were living in. I hope it goes as well as it can for them and their families. They will be able to move between the environments of their homes and market places and go home and change their shirts. 🙂
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Sanshoe,
Good on you, pointing this out.
Thank goodness for that. The UNHCR has for years been critical of Australia’s treatment of refugees. Our leaders were always hoping that by creating condition here worse that those they were escaping from would somehow be a deterrent.
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Mussels Gerard?
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How about Gerard going to Russia so he could come back inspired and paint. I’m going to overlook ‘our venerable leader’, Gerard. But that is a little too politically complicit for me in this circumstance of mention of our Motherland.
Brussels is where they have a Waiters’ Race, isn’t it where persons with silver platters dash like billy-o carrying drinks from a start to a finish without them getting wasted?
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Sandshoe, do you mean without the drinks or without the waiters getting wasted?
😉
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Asty! Asty! Asty! I couldn’t believe it when I realised there is more to the estate of being ‘wasted’ than I had been able to think through when I tried to say this as well. I was only thinking about splashy liquid falling upwards and thought that was clever enough. Then I noticed some sort of pleasant-hued cummerbund cloth tied in a swathe around their middles and thought so beautifully wasted on the young. 😉
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Gez, you imply that you have not attained literary fame, yet the Arms is littered with your tales about subjects from dog poo to art to washing up!!
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Sorry to say, Gerard, they’re not doing it any more, them Broosselians! I was there in ’05 and what I saw was most unculinary and unwelcoming. Restaurateurs running out of their restaurants shooing off poor, unfortunate beggars playing bad squeeze box! I ate nothing remarkable at the Place Whatever and something a little remarkable in a restaurant where my hosts took me. I’ve no idea where that was or what sort of fish we ate but I do remember a silver platter or two flashing by. My hosts ( E.U. thespians) gleamed with pride when the food was presented to us but, I must have felt a little over tired that evening and didn’t appreciate it as much as they did, though I couldn’t have shown this lack of appreciation too much because the evening rolled on quite jollyfully (allow me my neologisms please!)
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Atomou. the fashion will catch on in Brussels of shooing off bad squeeze box players and other sorts where it hasn’t already. I would say good, bad and indifferent. We’ll likely hardly get opportunity to gauge. The whole world will be copying Australia soon the way it so readily brandishes a wave and shoo fly fly shoo shoo shoo … please forgive me everybody, but the rhythm just does it for me of the catchy little numbers Australia is getting out now like ‘We don’t want no visitors’ and ‘Close the door, Turn out the light, You’re not coming in our home tinite’ … I love a friendly beat … just think the way we are going no-one will want to come and live in Australia soon … least of all these bloomin’ what do they call them, economic refugees … well, that’ll be a con straight off … want to make more money … likely story … little bit of starvation fly shoo shoo shoo shoopy little bit of love shoop shoop … there’s always a hat and playing a squ…. oh, that’s right … shoo shoop shoop fly shoo shoo.
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