Bah, madame, normalement...

I've been considering this blog from afar. Somewhat suspiciously. Deciding whether to get involved, or steer well clear.

Tipping the scales in the blog's favour, however, is an impending house move. If I have no outlet for my clenched-toothed GAAAAAH as I deal with it, I might as well start to tie myself to the tramlines and bid my farewells right now (effective on the one hand, as not one person would stop me, less so given that the tram only passes at 11:47 on a Tuesday in a leap year).

I have to grapple with the bank, convincing them that I don't want to insure the flat I will no longer be living it and that I actually live in my new flat. I have to convince the authorities I live there, but if they insist on calling at 11am on a weekday, they are unlikely to find me. I have to persuade the new bank (yes, it got to that stage) that I have a job and am a fine upstanding member of society by signing 57 copies of my ID with one hand tied behind my back singing La Brabançonne backwards.

And I have to find a car to move. It may well be easier to leave everything in the street and start over. Except the binmen would track me down and I'd be fined for leaving my household rubbish out on what is clearly a recycling day.

Brussels is my Albatross, and a weighty one at that.