Aug 242001
 

Perhaps there is something prophetic about this column. I arrived in Rosendaal from Brussels to change trains. Upon arrival I find that the station is nearly empty as there have been no other incoming trains. They have all been delayed due to… suicide.

The benefit of this was that outgoing trains were still running so I had the train to myself for my ongoing journey. The stories the driver told me were most enlightening and, in some cases, downright scary. I now know which stretches of track to avoid during thunderstorms and which to avoid under any circumstances due to failing safety equipment. I could tell you which ones… for a small bribe.

Brussels

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Aug 242001
 

Once again I was forced to Brussels for a meeting. Still unimpressed with the city, my Belgian colleagues attempt to coerce me in the afternoon with free alcoholic beverages. I sense an evil conspiracy to bribe me with alcohol for the purposes of a favourable review of their city. Do these people believe I’m some sort of semi-corrupt alcoholic?
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Brussels, it could be worse.

Trains

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Aug 222001
 

One excuse for delays I have heard a little too frequently is suicide. So far in my life, two people have thrown themselves in front of my train, never once thinking of the consequences that my delay may have. Or the trauma that the poor driver must suffer. Or the cleaning crews that have to mop up afterwards.
You can always tell when these events happen while you are waiting at a station for a train, they are announced as “unfortunate incidents” when a train is delayed.

Markyate, England

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Aug 192001
 

On the 2nd of July, I wrote of the sleepy village or Markyate, where I currently live. One aspect of the house I live in which I neglected to mention at the time is that any loudspeakers in the study pick up radio. Not radio stations, but taxi radios, fire engines and police radio, whenever one of their vehicles drives past.

How is this relevant in any way? Allow me to explain. I also live right next door to a pub. Minutes ago, this pub and surrounded by four police cars and a Dog Response Unit (Are you a dog? Woof! That’s the correct response.). According to the policemen and the radio which I accidently overheard via my speakers I discovered that sleepy little Markyate, middle class haven that is is, was just subjected to a major drugs bust. The police have just dragged away three people, including the son of the proprietor of the pub, for posession and distribution of class A drugs.
The excitement just never stops.

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