Tuesday, 6 December 2011

My Own Personal Gulag.

I had an hour to kill before a meeting so I took a stroll along Chausee de Wavre in search of a bit of breakfast. This is not easy to find in Brussels, as these guys have no idea of what a real breakfast is.

I dream of sitting down at the Lion's Den cafe, just around the corner from the Den in Bermondsey. I love the bustle, the light-hearted banter, the endless speculation about David Beckham's left foot - and the bacon and eggs go down a treat too.

In Brussels it is different. Stunted men, dressed in mustard coloured suits and sporting strange facial hair, sit silently staring at the wall. There is no banter here. Breakfast consists of various forms of bread, none of which I like. Croissants are, I have to say, ghastly.

Anyway, needing a bite, I bought a pain saucisse. This slightly resembles a sausage roll. It can be eaten cold, which is awful as these things are very greasy. Having it hot means microwaved so that the pastry goes all soggy. Either way, it is not nice. I had one anyway and threw half of it away and wished I were back in the real world.

So next time you sit down to a good fry-up, think of me.

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