Imminent Rants and Sighs of Content

I thought it impossible to meet someone who is even more delighted than I to live in Brugge, but I

Illustration is a cliché BUT the message hits the spot!

now know someone. A young Portuguese man who has worked here for a few months and is exuberantly grateful with his new life though his wife and two small children still live in Portugal; she is a university librarian but Daniel is working hard to persuade her to consider living and working here, if that is possible. The difficulty, of course, is for her to find a comparable job while she is learning Dutch. We breakfasted recently together and I was particularly struck by the fact that in Flanders, he earns 2000 euros a week but in Portugal, even though with a degree, five hundred was the best he could find. He, himself, is thrilled with the upturn in his fortunes but is especially enchanted that his line manager has told him recently that the firm wants to invest in him because he has potential. His face shone as he confided that no one had ever told him anything like that before and he is 40. The whole ethos in Portugal is different, he says; only a select few are valued and ‘ordinary people’ are considered expendable. In the meantime, he loves his job; is learning Dutch, with lessons paid for by his employer; he rents a flat, found for him by his employer; spends money in the local area on food, drink and some entertainment. Shortly, his little family will come to stay for three weeks, with activities planned by Daniel to the last degree, many of which will incur expenditure no doubt. I am a supporter of the European Union but it remains opaque as to why the more successful Western European nations cannot pass on to the poorer members, the message that good employment practice pays dividends. There is SO much the EU could do to improve its modus operandi but even so, the UK seems determined, unwisely, [for 'unwisely' read 'self-destructively'] to Brexit when it could have been a force for good within the citadel. But I must resist an anti-Brexit rant because it is so boringly predictable.

I have a group of Bruggelingen which meets for coffee, tea, beer and wine with English conversation, once a week. They have become a dear group of friends and they/we are amazingly congenial when one considers the random nature of how people became members. There are no rules; attendance is on a ‘when one can make it’ basis; there is no teaching so any learning is purely accidental or at best, occasional; one can leave whenever, so the leaving arc is roughly between 7.30 and 10.00 o’clock. However, I am considering a little lesson on the double negative [suggested by a member, possibly tongue in cheek] so that the relevance of Trump’s Putin remarks and pathetic, post-event, forced ridiculous ‘correction’, can be properly savoured. I would like to indulge here in a frenetic, anti-Trump, disbelieving, mystified rant about this vain, mendacious, lying, amoral carpetbagger temporarily using the White House as an El Dorado for himself and his family while he trashes American democracy, but I won’t because the New York Times does it so much better. Brugge is where I discovered the delights of the political reporting of the NYT and it entertains and challenges me every week. Yet another Brugge Plus. As I have possibly mentioned before, Brugge does seem to be the perfect place in which to site my ascent of the higher slopes of Later Life.

Oh dear. I see that the above two paragraphs both include an admonition to avoid ranting. I SO don’t want to become A Grumpy Old Woman. Surely this is a recent personal phenomenon, the rant, [not the avoidance of same]? Is it old age or is it the complete inability to understand majorities in two nations voting to shoot themselves in the foot so comprehensively which is the cause? Is it the mayhem in the U.S. and the threatened meltdown of trade and inter-continental movement including ease of holiday travel for the Brits, causing my inner bewilderment and anger OR is it merely age-resistance to change? I won’t discuss!!

But a closing mention of a traditional delight of the elderly; my terrace is a particular joy. It is floral and fertile; decorative and divine; private yet offering a sweeping architectural view to die for. It is ideal for me because I am the sole seigneur with all that solo power of decision-making yet with the scope to share it with others who may only admire. Patio Nirvana!

A corner of my terrace a year ago! I cannot work out how to

transfer photos from my new iPhone.

Hate new technology!

Putative rant stifled.