It’s not that you don’t want to update…

It’s that you don’t feel like it. Hmmm… or nothing really happened. Nothing of interest. but that’s not really true either. After your trip to the UK, you had only a few days to get the house in Ireland in order to prepare for the group of 37 Belgian students that you would be hosting for a week. No big deal. Wasn’t THAT much work.

That is a lie. It really was, all the way up to their arrival, and then non-stop work through the week. Up in the morning with a hangover, roll into the kitchen to help prepare breakfast, go to the chalet to lead workout sessions, back to breakfast to wash dishes, make lunch, drink copious amounts of coffee, squeeze in training sessions for yourself, Jane, and Neil, and start drinking again at 5pm. Wow, it was your last week in Ireland, and you thought to make your best alcoholic effort. Something like 8 consecutive days of drinking, and in spite of the minor beer belly that resulted, you don’t regret a moment of it. Good times, good laughs, good bonding moments with the members of the family, and memorable jokes with what turned out to be the best combination of Wwoofers so far. You (USA), Griet (Belgium), Justin (Canada), Manon (France), Bethany -aka- Eggsalad (USA) laughed your heads off, played Kings (I’m sure the French girls from the summer remember it well), and bombed on peanuts, crisps, and Marlene’s homemade chips. You passed out at 8pm, woke up at half one, and realized you still hadn’t packed. Your area in the attic had been thus far a nuclear blast of dirty clothes, garbage, and art supplies. Try packing quietly half drunk with four sleeping people in the attic. Not easy. But you managed, and found that you had once again unsuccessfully managed to lighten your load. You left well over 1/3 of your clothes and still couldn’t really fit all the gear into the bag. Jesssus….

All really boring updates here, so you’ll get to the point. You are in Belgium now, staying with Griet, who took you for a walk along a beach in Holland, then to Bruges yesterday–and it is like a fucking fairytale (not a bad movie either, if you enjoy watching Irish people take the piss out of Belgians–and a fine job they do!). You stopped for coffee at a chocolate bar and slipped briefly into ecstasy (not quite as nice as Starbucks, but the truffles made up for it). After ALMOST going the whole of Lent without dessert of processed sugar, it was a nice treat. After your Dutch lesson in a neighbouring forest (Griet turns out to be an excellent teacher), and after returning home, you went on a pleasant bike ride, followed by a quick run, followed by glasses of wine by a creek in the middle of the greenest field on the planet. Met one of Griet’s best friends and had some interesting chit-chat. The best part of this whole changeover is that your bed on the couch looks out through a full wall of bay windows, which overlook a green cow-filled field hugged by mist. In the morning, it is so bright (the woodwork in this house is so light is is like a beach house), you think you are overlooking the sea. But no, you are in the middle of farmland here. The quietest farmland EVER. You have not slept so hard in 6 months. Really. Hangover from sleep. Or maybe you are so exhausted from drinking during the Week of the Belgians. Who knows. It is dead silent. Placid. Unbelievably calm.

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