Zot. Brugge Zot – that’s the stuff. Zot means ‘fool’ in Flemmish Dutch, apparently, so I took to it instantly. Though, I should confess straight up that I only took a couple of sips; we may have just spent the weekend in a beer Mecca of sorts, but I clung to a series of trusty stems of vino while we were there. I didn’t even make myself sick on chocolates – though they are in fact currency in Bruges.

Yes, we made it. Spent the whole time wandering around cobbled streets, gazing at gables and cornices and public spaces. I think I should basically be doing Caroline’s Urban Design diploma with her, I so obviously know so much. When we weren’t ambling, we were sleeping the said of the undead in room.

Nothing more interesting than that to say. Everyone with a vaguely Dutch disposition seems to be unambiguously friendly and effortlessly tri-lingual. But I couldn’t even be bothered to do my bad accent comedy routine.

Traveling by train is kind of cute and St Pancras is a joy, especially compared to Bruxelles Midi, which is a sort of apocalyptic bunker.

And now we’re back. Planning ways to spend money we just don’t have on going on holiday for the rest of the year.

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