A True Story ...

The heat is unravelling me ... I swear.

I've worked all morning and had no clue about my psychological decline until I found myself, tv remote in one hand and bath towel in the other, heading off to shower.

I made a note to self to return the remote to the lounge after my shower ... of course I forgot.

Suddenly aware of hunger pangs, I had decided to shower before loosing myself on the general public. We were briefly down around 22 celsius as a thunderstorm made a punitive attempt at arriving ... we're now experiencing an intensely muggy kind of Singapore heat and my body has become a braided river system of sweat. (Apologies to those with delicate constitutions).

I set forth ... painkillers and crossiants were my goals.

We have 3 apotheeks close to home ... THREE!

But to backtrack, this is Belgium, land of the unions ... a special country.

The land where the neighbourhood Post Office closes between 12.30 and 2pm so the staff can lunch together; the nearby supermarket closes on Thursday's ('Is it really Thursday?' was my conversation with self on reaching its closed doors.) Ahhh well, that's probably why the first of the 3 Apotheeks was closed (Pharmacist for those back at home, hmmm Eczane for Turks).

Okay, I retraced my steps some and wandered off along the main shopping street ... checking my favourite white bread bakery was open as I passed by, terrified it too might close for lunch while I was searching for painkillers.

First corner ... and the 2nd Apotheek was closed.

I walked on, knowing they couldn't all be closed on a Thursday but you know how this story goes ... of course they're all closed ... it's Belgium, it's holiday time, it's lunchtime, it's Thursday ... who knows why they're all closed, sweat was running over my eyes, blurring my vision by now.

And so it was back to the bakery, still open thank god but my usually helpful baker lady was having a 'special' kind of day.

I asked for 'een whit broed'. She reached for the wrong one, I said Nee, and pointed to the shelf above. She brought both to the counter.

I said 'Niet cut' struggling as ever over the Dutch word for 'cut' since the Dutch word for 'divorced' settled into my mind during the crucial 3 second moment of learning a new word.

She got that so we moved onto the fact I only wanted one loaf of bread. I think she was playing with me ... it's the only explanation. I said more than once, quite sweetly too, 'Een whit broed'. Gesturing with one finger even ...

She wasn't budging and it was too hot to continue and so that's why it is that I have two uncut loaves of rather nice white bread in the kitchen ...

Now to test whether my tongue has formed a callous at the point where it rubs itself against my sharp little broken back tooth ... I'm talking again, although I think I was too grouchy for Gert to have enjoyed my 24 hours of silence-by-broken-tooth.

May the gods of happiness be smiling on you ... because I do believe they were playing with me.