Bruges

The holiday had been planned for a long time and now they were actually going. The children had been sent to a willing relative and they were actually making the journey by train from London to Bruges via Folkestone and Ostend. Their pockets were filled with Belgian francs and it was very exciting. The hotel they booked was not far from the main Market Square and they found it easily from the map and information that the travel agent supplied.

The Hotel was very impressive with steps flanked by balustrades, leading up to a grand entrance hall where large brass lamps hung from the ceiling and old paintings hung from the walls. This lead into a relaxing and individually decorated dining room which looked into the inner garden full of beautiful and unusual plants, which could be admired from the several sets of strategically placed benches. The bedroom was large and aesthetically decorated, and the attached bathroom was luxurious; everything was so perfect.

He had prepared for the trip by collecting detailed information on the styles of Belgian beer and the best bars to try them. He had carefully plotted these bars on a map and traced out walks to see the tourist attractions which took in the bars on the way. The possibilities were endless as Bruges is full of beautiful places to visit and also countless bars selling wonderful beer. He was determined to visit as many bars as possible and to try as many beers as he could.

After breakfast the next day they were in the first bar of the day. The beer came with a side dish of radishes which was a novelty. Ha ha! Then came a walk round the Halve Maan Brewery and after the tour there was a glass of Straffe Hendrick poured out and waiting for them in the bar. There was a little bowl of peanuts as well. After this they walked along the river to look at a building where nuns lived, then he got out his beer map and they were off again to find another bar which sold a tripel so good that it must not be missed. This bar had a sign in English saying only three beers per customer. I wonder what caused that, she laughed to herself. After this beer he said that there was a bar down the street selling another beer that they had to try, so OK she thought, we are only here the once. This was followed by another bar selling excellent lambic, and then another selling geuze.

It was late afternoon and she had had enough. They had not eaten anything as he didn't want to waste money on an expensive cafe. She was hungry. Her head told her to stop drinking: she had had enough, but he wanted to go to yet another bar so she sat in this one with a cola while he carried on. He finally left. They stood in a square somewhere, she didn't know where, and it was all becoming too much. A woman walked by, tall and slim wearing continental clothes and he couldn't help himself, he just ogled her. Then he told his wife that Belgian women looked beautiful, slim, well dressed, feminine and that she should look like that too.

His wife wasn't very tall, had had three children and could never or want to compete with this Belgian picture of perfect femininity that was walking by. She became very hurt and confused so blanked out her husband's comment. He then looked at her and said that it was always him that had to arrange things to do, trips, itineraries, organising tickets, why couldn't she organise things sometimes? They sat down on a bench. Why was she so useless? Why didn't she look like a Belgian woman? His eyes were turning blank and black. She was becoming very nervous. I can't help the way I am, this is me. I've always put you first and done what you asked. The beer kicked in to control their argument which became bitter about the past.

She stood up to distance herself from him but he stood up next to her and suddenly punched her side on in the stomach. The strong, painful blow sent her reeling over onto the pavement; this had come as a shock and she was down on the floor hoping that no one else had seen. They probably had, but people kept out of domestic tiffs. She steadied herself on all fours, stood up and limped back to the bench and sat there stunned. Her knee had been damaged from the fall and was hurting. She was used to this, it had happened before. He sat beside her and looked at her in disgust; there was no apology, there never was. Then she hit him back by telling him that she had many chances in the past for a career but he was always there stopping her, not supporting her. The arguments escalated into their usual rhythm and routine. This had all been done before.

By early evening they were lying on the hotel bed, each with their own private thoughts.

The same old record stuck in the same old groove.

Sleep it off Lady.