I went for a walk before we move. From dusk to dark, in the cold, exhaling steam, a cloud of breath as I walk my favourite path, planted with Christmas tree carcases. I still need the artificial lights while winter persists. Across the park, over the bridge and along the quays, leading me, from tight streets and back alleys, to the Cathedral standing in its greatness, then back in an alley of shops - witchcraft and jewellery mainly - onto the main street, the Sword Inn is crowded. People laughing and drinking, I want to join in the crowd but I move on.
I have done that exact route many times, noting the season changes, the beer gardens emptying as the days shorten, and lights behind the windows increasing as the sky darkens. The likeness of me walking that path ever again is meagre. Like so many paths, roads, places I will never walk, travel, visit ever again. I packed my bags and left. I packed my bags and left eleven times since 2019, to be precise. There is a fondness about some places, others left me in bits.
At home, the flat is packed. I spent the week boxing our life in cardboard. Wrapping carefully books, souvenirs and utensils. Dismantling ikea furniture I assembled 8 months ago, and already, la flemme of putting them back together in 48 hours. My packing is chaotic. From the outside, it looks like very organised and well-packed boxes, but I know the inside is a mess. Pans and pots flirting with candles and toothbrushes. A surprise for future me. (note from the future: it wasn’t a good surprise)
Moving is an opportunity to start again, new beginnings can be found everyday if you look closely, but there is nothing like a new place to start new habits. Paradoxically, I am moving so often that routines and habits dissolve. With every new place, new town, new identity, there is a new questioning: who am I going to be here? Maybe this is the place, in this very office I am writing from, 72 hours after we moved in, I will exit my flop era and enter my writer era. Moving is bittersweet. Leaving some parts behind, making room for new ones.
Revue de-pressed (January 1-17 2024)
Wordplay apart (if you get it you get it if you don’t you don’t), one of my many passions is reading the news as if it was a football game: making loud comments and exclamations. I used to send a weekly press review by email, sharing my satirical and cynical if humoristic, thoughts on articles and I’m thinking about bringing it back. The news is chaotic and the world seems to fall apart, an ideal time for me to make poor jokes.
Here’s what was worthy-ish to be blessed with my notes:
High expectations in the Guardian as Nesrine Malik comments on the West claiming moral high ground in the genocide trial against Israel in a column titled “It’s not only Israel on trial. South Africa is testing the West’s claim to moral superiority”. I am afraid any hope resting on our governments are in vain when, at the very same time, the UK tories (boooooo) consider asylum seekers as lesser humans, unworthy of a safe, mould-free house. What else could we expect from Rishi? We’re talking about people (the UK and the US) bombing Yemen in the name of free trade but letting Israel do whatever in the name of Israel can do whatever they want (
already wrote the best satire on the topic here: The US and UK bomb Yemen to save shipping lanes and genocide).Winter in Belgium: Fries, beer… and elite cyclists racing in the mud, the headline was so cliché it got me reading. And I’m so glad I did as I was gifted with this iconic response from an American supporter: “The Belgian national pastime is to stand and drink beer, in any setting, whether you’re in a bar or in a Christmas market”, not only it is true but also my favourite passtime. I am not too sure why the journalist seems obsessed with mayonnaise but it prompts for some funny lines. 10/10 recommend.