Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Good things and bad things
I have decided that this blog is going to be a random series of thoughts, as and when they occur to me. Structure? Expect little. There's only going to be about two people reading it, anyway, I suppose - thereby making it a futile ego-wank of the highest order. Hey ho!
OK - quick explaination about the title of this blog; it's a quotation from a speech by William Hague. The speech itself effectively sums up my own personal beliefs, unerringly hit to the point of exactly what is wrong with the UK today and, to my mind, was the finest political speech since Enoch Powell's "Rivers of Blood" speech. So there.
[reading between the lines: I am a sad political geek and I need to be kicked up the erse until I learn to behave and stop quoting bald men]
Good thing: I now have a pass and can get into the Parliament without hanging around and having to wait for various assorted bints to let me in. I have stuck a Union Flag over the EU flag on the pass. These EU tosspots think they are a proper country and need to be reminded, as often as possible, that the EU is NOT a country.
Bad thing: my pass is only a stagiere pass until my contract is finalised, so I still need to wave at the obnoxious Belgian security guards until they deign to stop ogling their female co-workers and let me through the security gates (made of glass! Clever, clever thinking there, lads! That'll stop the terrorists, I'm sure...)
Good thing: my flat is great and my office is great. I live right next to a park and it is beautiful and I can run round and round and round it until my legs start hurting and I have to go to the pub to recover.
Bad thing: to take revenge on the World for being born Belgian, the Belgians are determined smother everyone who visits their country with endless swathes of bureaucracy, petty rules, red tape and general bullshit. It is, as we say in the European Parliament, really fucking irritating. Apparently if you're here for more than three months, you have to get a proper European identity card - one's passport not being good enough for the Belgian bureaucracy, obviously. I will say this, however: the EU might as well try and tattoo my wrist. The only way they will brand me with their petty barcodes is by prising the identity card into my cold, dead fist.
Good thing: at least the Belgians aren't French. It's their main redeeming feature.
Bad thing: the corridors of the German area of the Parliament positively reek of stale cigar smoke. It is horrible.
Good thing: the end of this post.