What's new, Leroy Gauthier?

Ello vriends, wëllkomm, hallo, hi there, what's new. I'm back! I'm in London. I did a surprise. It went really well. But there are days to catch up on, knees to peruse, whatevers to catch before getting on to that. 

So, here is where I will detail a few of the things that I noticed in the days leading up to the time when I decided I was going to bite the sodding bullet, get a train back from Brussels and whistle 'surprise' at these chaps before settling into a barmy evening of being back in London town. Boy did Stella never taste so homey. 

First of all, I noticed that all of the hairs on my body have gone white. No not quite, gone yellow. My knobblies look like that bloke Rutgar Hauer's out of Blade Runner. Would you look at that!

This is the tan-line that I have grown most fond of. Really I am just putting it here to fill space but would you look at that!

This is what happens when you wear cycling gloves almost all day almost every day for almost five weeks, in countries which are almost always sunny as you like in the midsummer months. Maybe the contrast is less than expected, considering. I suppose my hands are just that way. Would you look at that.

This following snap is definitely the least remarkable of the Corporeal Series, as it's a pretty bog standard farmer's tan, which you don't have to go very far to find.

So I got into Luxembourg! Another teeny tiny country with rather a lot to say for itself. And what language does it say what it has to say in? IN LUXEMBOURGISH, of course. I'd been here once before, on my trip three years ago, and vaguely knew the route back to Brussels. I was on familiar territory, and boy did I celebrate. I ate a luncheon of double soups - one which was wholesome and warming and necessary, and a second which was a dessert soup! Sweet soup is the bomb. It was a cold strawberry soup with a mound of ground Speculoos in the middle and it BLEW ME RIGHT AWAY.

Luxembourg City is a city with some customs. Just look at this crowd of marble marvellers, encircling one bloke on a pedestal. They don't know what they're doing, but they're stuck like that.

Alongside, or despite, or in spite of such customs, Luxembourg is a country which tells it how it is. Indeed, one must concede that, undeniably, trop vite, vite mort. Go too fast, and your skin will slide from its seams and reveal the true you - an angular, toothy gawping buffoon with no sense of up nor down.

Thanks, let's see that again, but a bit more zoomed in.

That's fabulous, says Darth Vader, who's sucking on a humbug and breathing heavily.

If you do vite mort in a pulp of undoing, it may soothe your spirits to know that Leroy's Gauthier back, come what may.

At the time I thought these may have been Belgian Blues, in actual Belgium. I was thrilled. Subsequently, all at once, I heard the voice of bovine taxonomic reason wailing in my ear. Of course these aren't Belgian Blues. Google the BB and you'll see quite another beast. They were pretty nonetheless, and in reverence I doffed my helmet to them.

When I arrived into Namur it was a crisp golden bloomer of an afternoon, and I discovered it to be guarded by a hoard of polar bears, waiting with bated breath for an intruder to look at them sideways. After a minor scuffle, Chief bear granted me passage, and I cycled merrily on through to the other side.

Namur was also vaguely familiar, but these umbrellas were new. Aren't they just the prettiest, I can hear you exclaim.

For me, Namur's cathedral is one giant building which just does not give a damn. It don't serve nobody, so you can take your waffle business elsewhere.

My favourite part of the city is the honking great citadel which overlooks the whole ruddy ting. I read a little about the history of it from those boards which stand here and there whose purpose it is to let passers-by know a little about the history and that, but the dates, nations and details have got all muxed ip in my noggin and I don't want to feed you any misinformation. So, let's just say someone chucked some rocks at it once and, in return, were fed to the bees.

Dinner was hearty; I ate bare hummus.

Here's a shot of my tent, pitched, with my bike next to it. They get on so fine. This is about a quarter of the way up the citadel, on one of its many grassy shelves. Each overlooks the city at a greater vantage point. This one suited me fine - the climate was perfect there.

I indulged a little as the sun set, and got a bit emotional.

I watched it get proper dark from higher up the citadel, atop a stone wall which looked right out over the whole city. It was right gorgeous, and THEN I was pleasantly surprised to hear a troupe of horn-honkers up the way, running through a series of fanfares, presumably in preparation for a concert. Their instruments were bizarre, concentric brass bugle horns, and reverberated in astonishing harmony throughout the citadel's citadellian, cobbled alleyways. Quite remarkable. I clapped.

In Belgium, it was the diddy things which made me smile inside.

And then I saw the sign for Brussels and I was in! I was there!

When I'd worked my way into the middle, they were just setting up the Brussels Flower Carpet 2016, which this year celebrates Japan, for the 150th anniversary of positive relations between the two countries. Unfortunately, I left before they'd made much headway, but never mind that - they gots waffles! I ate my fill of these, with Nutella, Speculoos and also plain they are delicious. I also had a Greek kebab which made me feel right good, and then---came another fantastic highlight!

I'd been accepted by a Warmshowers host called Tine earlier on in the day, so things were already coming up roses. When I arrived at the house, a little way out of the centre, I was welcomed fabulously and wonderfully by a group of happy, shining individuals. They're all eco, super friendly, idiosyncratic, warm and real people. I had a lovely evening and a lovely night's sleep and also a lovely morning, during which I read some of Peter Spencer's charming book, The X Tractor: Cornwall's Culling Plan. He has a go on a lot of wordplay, internal half-rhymes and that. Sometimes it's witty, sometimes it's trite, but it doesn't really matter, because it's fun for a jaunt.

I left Brussels on a dismally rainy day on a Eurostar which no one knew about except my mum and Tine & the gang whom I told because I was so excited about the SURPRISE I was going to land on my brethren here in the smoke. I sat chortling to myself for the duration of the journey, much to the chagrin of my neighbour, who was trying breathlessly to get some shlep. Oh well, I thought, I'm going to blow their ruddy socks off, I can giggle as much as I please.

My arrival was as merry as can be. Everyone was home. George's ears fell to the floor and flapped furiously about collecting dust, Tash jumped eight feet into the air and flattened herself on the ceiling like a big beautiful pancake, all the balls fell out of Toby's ball-and-socket joints and rolled around in frantic disarray, and Liam stood aghast, gawping at the terrible scene in a state of panic, wondering how to put everything back together again, then noticed the source of all the confusion and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. What an event!

And now I'm BACK and I've had a BALL and a BLAST and it's been a big adventure. Big love to you all for sticking with me; writing this blog's been a pleasure, even better knowing there are folk actually reading it. If anyone wants to do a similar trip and wants advice and thinks my advice might help them (god forbid), hit me up because I'd be more than happy to talk about the ins and outs with anyone. I recommend it highly. Good bash. Get yer wheels on.

Ciao, peace, all the very best. Bru out!