Postcards from the edge (of Europe)
Aaron Correspondent
This week Belgium went Marmite crazy. Well, actually it was Herdi and I who went Marmite crazy, although in this business you should never be shy of identifying trends. I thought I heard a man on Belgian radio pronouncing the importance of the black manna, but on reflection, he could equally have been saying Madonna, which probably fits more with his otherwise flawless survey of female pop musicians.
Friends of mine have often commented on how strange it is that in a foreign climate you feel a sudden need for that yeasty paste. Could it be that the whole mystery of the British character has been distilled into these dark little tubs? Personally, I don't see the mystery. All continental food being so generally unpleasant, a nice tub of paint remover would seem like a real treat, and not just something you would drink on Rugby tours. My friend Herdi says he likes it too, although I'm beginning to suspect him of being a little bit of a yes man. Only yesterday, as I was helping him with his English, I pointed out a particularly ugly woman who was approaching us in the street. "Blimey Herdi" I said, ironically. "Don't like the look of yours".
"Yes, she mings" he replied as I had tutored him. "Enough to turn the milk sour". To my horror he then walked over, gave her a kiss, and proceeded to introduce her to me as his wife. I mean, I'm not saying my other half, the lovely Mitch, is exactly an oil painting. She too has been asked if she appeared in Star Wars, but I won't hear a word said against her. Perhaps Herdi is not the pickiest of punters. He told me he once wrote to the Brussels Lonely Hearts Club, and they replied saying they weren't that lonely.
But I digress. I have spent the last weekend settling down to domestic life in Belgium. It's funny because, apart from the language and the culture and the style of government, Belgium is very similar to good old blighty. Once you've got round the occasional "D'oh, my eye" faux pas shall we say, that these mental continentals seem to pick up on like the crazed politically correct automatons that they are, you can feel quite at home, with only your Marmite for company.
I must admit, I made a little bit of an indiscretion last week. I was sat round the table with Herdi, a chap called Pierre, which is, I believe, French for Hurbert, and Jean, a lovely young man whose only flaw is his terrible fear of hats. We were in the hostel where I am currently staying, and as the chat passed to whether or not the Bundesbank was casting an economic shadow over Europe, I mentioned that I was just going for a quick wank. Well, nothing so wrong with that you might think. I mean, at home, when I tell the lads in hall where I'm off to at that time in the evening, they just hand me a magazine. But in hoity-toity Belgium that sort of thing seems to be considered an error of manners. I got the sort of look I'd get from the lads back home if I told them I'd written a poem. Like I was some kind of wierdo.
The only other problem with Belgium is the poor quality television. It's not that I'm biased. I'm as educated as the next Loaded reader, and according to their recent survey, the average Loaded reader has an IQ high enough to get into Oxford, that is, if you've been to public school. And I'm travelled. I've been all over Europe and seen some brilliant public service broadcasting. In Italy for example, there is a consistent use of pornography for the advertising of almost any product, even life insurance commercials somehow cleverly include a topless young woman jiggling about as she signs the form. Watching late night shows on Italy's channel five you hardly notice the commercial breaks. But Belgium has none of this. The only break from mind numbing documentaries about some kind of strange new currency that they claim will one day be used throughout Europe, is that golden half-hour at lunch time when they too, show Home and Away. In Belgium they are a year ahead, and Home and Away now includes even more beach scenes and shots of teenaged girls in short school skirts. Fantastic. Almost felt I liked the place.
27th Apr 2000