Well you took your time after giving us that sneak preview during Easter!

It’s the middle of exams and the heat and hay fever are making it increasingly difficult to get any work done. So instead, I wait for the night to come… it’s too warm to sleep so I might as well take the summer days for myself and leave my translations for the cool of the night time.
So I’m sat on my window sill with blue sky above me and the streets of Brussels below. The sound of Beirut’s trumpet can be heard from the shade of my bedroom and my sunburn is slowly reaching infrared. 
The last few weeks have been a perfect start of the last chapter of my séjour abroad: we’ve been in the Cambre park by the lake everyday kicking a football about and having water fights. All summer’s clichés have been well deserved and are well over due. 

Exams finish soon and an Amsterdam plan is slowly brewing to celebrate. After that I’ll finally be heading home and ready for this year to become a fond memory. I’ll typically forget the bad things and only remember the good this year has done me. 

But it’s not over yet. 

So much has gone on that I don’t know where to start. 
My birthday was good fun but it was long enough ago now for me to simply say it included a night at Mme Moustache (the bearded lady), a warehouse party and a surprise visit from a friend on her way back from Amsterdam.
A few weeks later I thought I’d drop in on her in Paris and make the most of being on the continent, it only cost me 40 euros return on a coach. On my way down I was the only passenger to have been searched by boarder control. Evidently they took one look at me and thought “he’s on his way from Amsterdam and that bag is full of weed and shrooms.”
Paris as ever was a thousand times better than Brussels and I was even fortunate enough to have a friend who knows it well show me around. The last time I was there I was lost 90% of the time.
She showed me around her favourite places to eat and drink and took me to a few exhibitions. It’s funny how I really have trouble with contemporary art, I swear some of this people are getting their work into museums either because art has become just another product people buy and sell or because no one wants to admit they don’t get it like some sort of bizarre emperor’s new clothes situation. Or maybe one day something will click and I’ll be able to look at a black canvas with a white smudge on it and say “mmm this one’s so naïve” like I over heard some lady say in Pompidou.
Anyway, the Paris erasmus posse are having the best time: they go to at least one exhibition a week. bastards! They do have to deal with parisians on a daily basis though, respect.