Sun, 22 November 2009
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Never one to throw in the beach towel, editor Paul Morris believes that an Indian summer is imminent.On the first day of September, spotting some blue in the firmament, I headed down to the coast, to Knokke in fact. If you have read this far you have excused the terrible pun in the article’s heading but what’s a scribe to do? It has been a very very long Summer. The weather (I promised myself I would refrain from Belgian weather bashing - though a trip back to Scotland has finally put all that into perspective) has been south of absolutely lousy. At the risk of sounding like one of those Expats you meet in the Irish bars who can talk about the vagaries of the climate for at least three pints, I will just say, "We had a nice June though, eh? And I hear tell that we are on a promise - for an Indian summer." Looking out the window at another hue of grey, I would agree: « If you live in India."
www.flickr.com/photos/jkivit/tags/knokke/
It required all manner of electric wheeled transport - metro-train-tram - to deliver me to Knokke-Heist, to give it its full double-barrelled moniker. Dark foreboding clouds followed the train as if I had somehow personally insulted the weather gods in this or a past life. The train to Blankenberge however was pleasant enough, although it took the entire hour and a half to recover from the visions of Gare Centrale, which currently looks like downtown Baghdad on a bad day. 
An old boy who shared my bench commented on the fact that has been while since the building works started (he could hardly bring up the weather since we were 50 feet underground). Sharp as a pin for an eighty year old he did point out the workers were giving folks ideas and pointed upwards to the ceiling with his walking cane. Once I realised he wasn’t attacking me, I let my gaze venture upwards and sure enough, some wise guy had fashioned a handy hanging rope made of electrical cable. I suggested it was for the architect.
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