In Bruges

Despite the worst start to the British winter ever known in my life time we decided to battle on and still go ahead with the planned trip to Bruges - via the car.

06:00 hours Matt Eaton and wife-to-be arrived at the Rose Villa estate for the pick up, still sad over the loss of the chicken's I'd been up early and exploring the even fresher fox prints in the snow. The organisation of this trip was pretty non existent on my part. I only really packed core essentials the morning of let alone had any euros / european power plugs etc so the channel crossing service station proved use for more than the XL bacon cheeseburger breakfast option.

Bruges itself was simply stunning. New cluttered street signage, no yellow lines, no brutal 1960s/1970s architecture just wonderfully cute (small bricked) buildings.

We experienced a range of (in the words of an irish actor) gay beers, including Quack, the guillotine, hoegaarden rose, judas etc.... had a horse ride, saw the chocolate museum and just generally relaxed. I met an interesting coffee retailer who introduced me to giant coffee beans and sold me some green beans which I later roasted in the Rose Villa Estate pizza oven = nice.

As we were making good time on the way home we stopped off at the French hyper markets, wine, cheese and some more cheese were the order of the day and between the four of us we picked up enough supplies to power through until Christmas. Aside from an incident in a French car park, which probably destroyed Mr Eaton's chances of becoming a British Diplomat to France, the driving and entire trip was very smooth. A great way to enjoy a long weekend. Highly recommend being In Bruges.

DGL infected, brutual chicken deaths, backing Dom Joly, epic snow & off to Bruges tomorrow...

Whenever I get a cold - which is normally once a year - the process of infection is consistent. First headaches, then sore throat, then runny nose, nose bleeds, followed by more headaches and usually sore eyes but this time I had added fun trying to breathe and sleep whilst suffering from a disgusting cough. The kind of disgusting cough which can turn even the stiffest of upper lips whilst sat on a commuter train.... I've almost kicked infection but have learnt that my partner in European adventures, Mr Thomas Charles Whitman, is currently bed-bound somewhere in the non-lit streets of the fine Suffolk Countryside and now my lady is _inevitably_ infected.

Its been a cruel week in several ways, my virus, epic snow and the death of our chickens. I was in my sick bed yesterday when Lucy broke the news that they had 'gone' and that there were 'lots of feathers'. She wasn't wrong, I braved the Hoth System style weather and went to investigate. Sadly I discovered a headless two year old Boudicca within the snow, not far from her house. It was a sad moment and one which will remain for a while - you can't really blame the fox for doing what he is programmed to do, and within 24 hours I found myself eating a chicken korma..... but then again Mr Fox clearly kills beyond what he/his family need to eat as otherwise he would have take Boudicca's body away. I also spotted from a distance Sylvia's headless body. I've subsequently worked out the movement of the fox through his snow prints - and lessons have been learnt for the future protection of chickens. A shot gun license perhaps?



After a sad day laughter was found in the wit of Dom Joly, who is single-handedly responsible for I'm a celeb getta me outta here being on series link in the villa. I even clicked the red button and gave him a vote. He will be in the last three for sure and could win it. While the celebs hang out in the tropical climate down under Colchester, Lincoln and indeed many other fine British communities get wallopped with an avalanche worth of thick white stuff - and I'm not talking about full fat Cravendale. Once again the 'warmists' seem to have disappeared back into their boxes as Britain sees the most punishing of beginnings to winter on record - I would stress tho that my great grandma probably worked through ten miles of this snow on a daily basis just to go and pick up a loaf of bread from the baker so as my good Irish friend Trevor Elvin would say theres nothing wrong with walking (just make sure you take it easy ya).

This afternoon I learnt that the Russians had clinched the hosting of the World Cup from us, it felt like we had just lost the tournament all over again. A real shame especially as we sent out the big guns, respect has to go to HRH Prince William, future King of Great Britain; aside from sending out Ross Kemp what more could we have done? I can't help but think the BBC could have waited just another week to broadcast their FIFA-Panorama...

Right time to find out who's getting kicked outta the jungle, then I've got to pack for a 4x4-drive chauffeured journey to Bruges. Quite possibility a crazier idea than sleeping on the high street of Colchester in the snow and -4 temperature.... updates to follow.