Princess

Well not really ill gotten.  Went and changed my train tickets and it costs 30 euros less to go the week after next.  I paid by credit card but the SNCF people refunded me CASH.  I spent the loot as follows:

1 coatstand (8 euros – well actually 10 because although they were willing to give it to us for 8, Mr. Waffle felt they needed the money more than we did.  A bit tiresome to get home, I carried it on my shoulder balanced like skis while Mr. Waffle pushed the Princess but we were something of a hazard to other road users – did have a surreal moment while waiting for the tram; best dressed diplomat and her husband came along, stopped to chat and hung up their purchases on the coatstand. Very appropriate for the land of Magritte).

Six porcelain cups and saucers (5 euors – a killing!  Mr. Waffle says that there is a gap in my life only porcelain can fill.  And I got a sugar bowl thrown in as well.  Slightly difficult to carry. Especially with a coatstand slung nonchalently over a shoulder)

2 cinema tickets (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkabhan – only alright but we have broken our cinema jinx and actually got to see the film we wanted to see)

When we got home from the cinema last night, our babysitter told us that the Princess had woken up at 9.00 and insisted on playing until 11.00.  In our evil hearts we hoped that this would mean that she might wake up later this morning.  No. I have been up since 6.50.  Princess having stood up alone for the first time last night (gasps please) is anxious to keep practising in case she loses the knack. She has also said her first word. Cuckoo.  I’m trying not to draw any conclusions here.  This morning she pointed at her toy train and said choo-choo. Our genius.

The French Mama is coming to stay tomorrow with husband and baby.  I will be too deeply consumed with envy peering at her latest purchases to concentrate on blogging.  Also, I will have to stop the Princess roughing up her tiny baby and stealing her cuddly toys.  There was a major scene in the supermarket this morning when I attempted to remove from her steely grasp a rubber toy she had found in the “toys for pets” section of the supermarket (I was trying to choose the right freezer bag on the adjoining display and I was distracted – does this strike you as an odd juxtaposition?  Do Belgians lure their pets into the kitchen with squeezy toys and then freeze them in 1 litre bags?).

The French Mama leaves on Saturday afternoon with her entourage and Sunday sees us going to the Brussels Childbirth Trust Funday where I will be in charge of a stall.  Clearly, I didn’t want to do this but a woman rang me and asked me to do it and my complete inability to say no did not desert me.  As you can imagine, my loving spouse is even more delighted than I am at the prospect of taking his daughter on shetland pony rides while I dole out strawberries and champagne to the great unwashed.

On Monday, the Princess and I will embark on a nine hour train journey to the west of France where my parents will be awaiting our arrival with bated breath.  I am dreading the journey as not only will it be a little hard to keep herself entertained for nine hours on the train but I have to change trains and will be bringing Princess, our gear, buggy and car seat.  I hope to rely on the kindness of strangers but this can sometimes go amiss.  Anyway, we’ll be gone for the week and Mr. Waffle will be left alone and palely loitering and working, obviously. You know, sometimes, being a kept woman is not so very bad.

We went to Knokke yesterday with the Glam Potter and baby L.  Though it was overcast in Brussels, it was relatively fine on the coast.  The Princess doesn’t “think much of the ocean, the waves they was fiddly and small” and also rather cold.  However, she did consent to dip a small toe very briefly in the North Sea.  The beach was another matter and she played happily with baby L’s bucket and spade while L made a run for the main road nearby.

Knokke is a funny place.  The Belgian coast is rather unbeautiful. High rise towers gazing out on a chilly grey sea.  But they love it.  And the coast is really expensive.  A flat in one of those towers could set you back the same amount as a flat in Dublin.  In Ranelagh.  And Knokke is full of very rich Belgians. I heard a news item on the radio that the local council in Knokke has banned helicopters from the area.  Apparently, so many residents had helipads the area was becoming very noisy and it was losing its cachet.  Odd.

Still, it was lovely to be by the sea.  Maybe, when I win the lottery, we will be able to put a deposit on a small flat near Ostend.