What’s in a Name?

In Malta again this week.  One thing which I never fail to notice on the island is that everyone names his or her house.  It is considered odd if you do not and official forms all have a little box within which you can insert a name for the house when including your address.

Spanish Practices

At home this week.  The Grand Place, Brussels’ main square is alive with the sound of camera shutters, eager talk and the noise made by a dozen or so rowdy scouts.

Hidden Symbols

The Soul-Soother and I are in Cologne.  We deposit our luggage in the hotel and catch a tram to head straight into the centre of town.  Outside the main train station, the cathedral looms high above us, its spires piercing the clouds and fog on this cold November day.

November Update

Writing the blog and making sure that you get a couple of posts ready every week is not a simple task.  There is a reward at the end of the tunnel though, mainly from your comments and ratings which show that you appreciate the posts and stories.

I’m happy to announce that October was a bumper month for ratings – 500+ hits in a single week (a new record) and an average of 50 or so hits per day means that more and more people are signing in and reading – welcome folks!

Stepford Vikings

I step off the tram in Oslo and take a look around.  The town is coming to life and most people are, like me, on their way to work.  I am a bit anxious today as I am about to deliver a course that is new.  I hope that all has been planned for but I feel Murphy’s ghost hovering around me.

First Past The Post

I yawn.  After having been driven to Brussels Charleroi Airport at the ungodly hour of 5am, I checked in and passed through security without hassles. Thankfully this is a small airport so there is not much walking to do.

Honest Feelings

The change in seasons is immediately visible outside my window as it is still dark outside.  The sodium light casts shadows around the street as people walk to work or school, chased by the brighter beams from cars headlights.

The Bleeding Obvious

It rains.  I am suitably sheltered, for now, underneath a huge tree that hangs its branches over me like a protective mother.  I stare at the lake in front of me and wonder whether I should run into the cafeteria or wait to see if the few droplets of rain are just a cloud sneezing its way through the skies above Belgium.

Dinner a Deux

I shrug off the strain of another’s day lecturing and, iPod clamped to my ears, walk away from the main office block heading towards Torshov.  That’s Norwegian for “Wait here while your tram gets delayed.”

Night At The Museum

I look back along the route I’ve just walked.  I’m sure that I was supposed to be here, but perhaps I took a wrong turning. Perhaps I should have turned left after Rome not before. I decide to ask for help.