Wandelen

A ‘back-to-normal’ week with Dutch class this morning bringing its usual post-lesson exhaustion. We have a scant ten minute break in a lesson of four hours twenty minutes so unsurprising that I eventually stagger for the bus feeling around a hundred. I seem to spend the entire lesson span in a 

state of linguistic bewilderment [only Dutch spoken] and seriously question my intellectual ability to progress to Niveau Vijf, Level Five. We shall see; I would like to be able to achieve that outmoded amd geriatric pastime of reading and enjoying De Standaard, a very respectable-looking newspaper. Suspect that the spoken Dutch and more specifically, the heard Dutch, will remain beyond my reach!

This calm reflection encapsulates what I love about Brugge;

its art, its architecture, its canals, its tranquillity; its
hidden depths and surface beauty.

Between other little activities at the weekend, I went off twice to wander along, across, beyond the canals in the bright but wintry sun; Bruggelingen and tourists alike were opening their collective face to the light and Spring felt almost round the corner. I resolutely avoided examining the terrace which looks unloved and neglected, promising it outdoor benefits to come very soon. Work is sorely needed and Will Be Done when the temperature rises to comfort level out there.

Ditto. And all, around only one hundred metres from home!

I have dithered about including the photograph  at the bottom of this blog which has nothing to do with Brugge but does have a strong emotional connection for me. I received it this week from the son of one of those pictured in it and the memories came rolling along. Taken some time in 1955 or 1956, it shows the group of friends with whom I socialised constantly in those years, up to 1961 when my first daughter was born and Going Out was something that was chiefly unaffordable!! It is extraordinary to yours truly to think that I am the sole survivor clinging to the wreckage; all those meals and pub evenings and dances [SO many dances!]; all that good friendship, laughter, loyalty and camaraderie dimly remembered though the warmest and happiest of feelings remain. There are two people missing in fact from the photograph including the photographer who can surely be found strolling the Elysian Fields, almost certainly planning insurgency as he issues a celestial call to arms!

A Perfect Age To Do Everything

 There was an interesting article in The Times on Saturday 10^th February entitled: Marathons, Botox and Sex: There’s a perfect age to do everything. It was light-hearted though claiming the support of ‘research’ and attracted me [as intended] because it claimed that youth isn’t always an advantage. Against each item such as Remember things, it gave an age, 25, where youth has a decided advantage as I notice each and every Dutch lesson I currently take. My co-conspirators in the class are mostly in their twenties and remember stuff effortlessly it appears while my own effort-full endeavours are chiefly poorly rewarded.

Many of the activities listed were better experienced in youth such as Learn to drive, 17; Build hmuscle, 25; Run a marathon, 28 while Learn a language was 8 [Oops, missed that by about 75 years!]. But, impressively, some things get better with age like Have great sex, 66; Do Maths in your head, 50 and Concentrate well, 43 while Resolving conflicts at 65 and Being happy 69 simply confirmed what oldies have always known though it was a pleasure to read it in newsprint. There was nothing suggested as perfect for the eighties though contentment, wisdom and tenacity come to mind

as being states of being which are second nature to many in their seventies and eighties. A significant number of experiences or attitudes, so important in earlier days, like status; striving for promotion; worrying what people will think; anxiety about partner or children or parents; success or failure; all have faded into insignificance or have disappeared. The boat has entered calmer waters and quietly bobs along, allowing the boatman to enjoy the views, diverse acquaintances, various activities, chiefly mental, occasional treats and occasional mishaps. Everything in moderation is the silent cry while we quietly follow our motto: Carpe diem; Pluk de dag, savouring our full quiet lives and the occasional triumphs, visits and guests. This unexpected and unsought serenity of old age comes very close to happiness.

And very close to happiness was this week’s Mah Jong session followed by a lunch of delicacies like sushi and dumplings provided by our Chinese leader, Nancy, and a group member, Clair. All

consumed with various bubblies and all to celebrate the Chinese New Year. As a goodwill token, our hostess had decreed we must dress up in Oriental fashion if possible, or with at least a sartorial nod to the Chinese mode, in red perhaps. Several of us managed more than a token but all had tried and, in a gesture of what we imagined to be youthful Orientalism, we all wore a red camellia from Patricia’s garden in our collective hair. We looked cool, we thought, until [in my case] we saw the photographs later. Only two women looked remotely authentic with the camellia-in-the-hair, the beautiful, dark-haired Chinese girl who wore hers to the manner born, and Clair-the-cook with her abundant and beautiful grey hair. The rest of us just looked good sports!! But we had a great morning and honestly, age had little to do with anything, the age range being from the fifties to the eighties.

Think I haven't mentioned my tax situation though I feel it keenly and probably, can do nothing to rectify the situation. My tax bill for 2017, just arrived, has doubled from the first estimate months ago and now represents a 45% level of taxation on the  modest two pensions taxable in Belgium. I have now discovered that the host country [Belgium] can take any UK income, in my case my main teachers' pension, add it to the income total here without taxing the UK income, to decide on the entry level for taxation here. I will consult a tax accountant but having obtained the relevant paragraph from the Double Taxation Treaty which allows the manoeuvre described, think there is nothing effective to be done. The very first hint of a serpent in Paradise, alas!