A Beautiful Cake

Things have slipped, as my mother might have said. It must be two weeks since my last blog partly due to being occupied elsewhere; partly due to age-related sloth and procrastination ! It was lovely going for four days to Cologne for a 50^th birthday party with the opportunity to stay in a tasteful, calm minimalist apartment, white and spare, but with lots of time in the flat of the birthday boy and his husband which closely resembles an over-the-top Victorian melodrama set. Almost every inch of wall adorned with pictures, many of Brugge [at least 30]; a positive 'fishes and loaves' crowd of Jesus statues and statuettes, [at least a hundred] on surfaces already crowded with ceramics, objets d'art, photographs, books, figurines, mementoes; lots of interesting furniture including at least two harmoniums [harmonia?] clamouring to be noticed; swags and bows and sweeping curtains adorning doorways, all adding to a busy but authentic and dramatic whole. I could add, politically incorrectly, those suffering from excess weight, and those suffering from claustrophobia, abandon hope! Enter not despite the very warm welcome awaiting.

The party itself was a jolly affair including a two or three hour concert with individual friends singing or playing the piano and several groups including fine singing from the Church choir organised by the birthday boy himself. Plus a great buffet and a most artistic cake. The Master of Ceremonies, a friend who organises important musical festivals as his day job, performed a dramatic excerpt from The Magic Flute though he is not a singer. He also wore a pair of Chris Vos shoes from Brugge pictured nearby. Not a shy man you will deduce!

Further work has been done on my terrace, especially when son and his wife were here for a few days till yesterday, Sunday. We visited Damme for coffee where I took the opportunity to buy a beautiful top from the Very Chic Indigo. We were actually en route to Bomberna near Maldeghem, a superb garden centre where one could spend at least half a day, sustained both by the cafe and the huge range and display of plants. It is a place where the whisper of a regret at the willing loss of a little garden can be heard. But I restrained myself and bought only a gorgeous white hortensia, to replace the loss of the two which died of drought in my Californian absence. Plus a fancy fern, and two huge pots, one of which will await use [in the fietsenhok off the entrance hall] in the Autumn when the tricky job of potting on the wisteria and its companion, twining clematis will occur. The other pot was for the vine and my son, fortunately, grappled with its pot-bound steadfastness and eventually we transplanted it. I am coming to terms with my singular inability to deal with very large pots efficiently or even, inefficiently; quite a lot of strength is needed.

Then, Sunday afternoon, strolling in the sun to the Crowne Plaza hotel in the Burg, a friend and I heard a brass band and thus did I discover Open-air Lucht Concerten, performed by various youth brands, and the Navy, mainly in the Burg but also in the Markt and Koningin Astridpark, between April and September. I had always thought of brass bands as a chiefly British tradition, especially in the North of the UK and often associated with coal miners and pit villages. But from the marching bands from Holland and Belgium which perform once a year in Brugge, clearly there is a strong Nederlands' brass band tradition too. These concerts are free, part of a most generous cornucopia provided gratis every year, courtesy of the Stad.