This is the story of a whacky beer that I shared with my Polish housemates mere moments before setting off from my home in York to the train station, where I would begin my journey back to Canada.
As we come to the end of a few days in which I was able to relax and come to terms with England and Belgium’s terrific World Cup runs thus far, it’s time to take a look back at some of the other drinks that I have consumed during this World Cup. Some of them excellent, some of them bad.
Tomorrow morning I leave Belgium and head to England. In preparation, I am calmly devouring the remaining bottles of Belgian beer that I have acquired during my three weeks here. This blog post happens to be about one of them.
A stunning combination of having previously lived in and photographed the s*$& out of Ghent, a general indifference to taking lots of new photos, a camera that fairs poorly in darkly lit cafés, and questionable photography skills, has led to the vast majority of my photos from Ghent thus far being of inferior quality. But there’s something kind of punk and artsy about that, isn’t there?
Among my many visits in Ghent these past two weeks was a small drinking session with my second host brother Thibaud. For our third drink we were joined by Thibaud’s friend Henri, who just so happens to be my first host brother!
My next day in Brussels, Tuesday 3 October, I took advantage of our friends’ lovely backyard by installing myself with two grocery store bought beers. The cats then did their part by installing themselves on wall and lawn respectively.
For those of you who don’t know, I have received a two year visa for the UK, and I will soon be spending a lot of time exploring England, and perhaps eventually working in a pub. First though, I have returned to Belgium to visit some of my favourite people and cafés, not necessarily in that order. Going forward, you can expect my blog to become in part a travel blog, complemented by the usual drink reviews.