Thursday 12th January 2017

Another beautiful day in Oostende forecast, but with wind and clouds sweeping in later, with the threat of heavy rain.

And we have to travel to Leuven for the weekly meeting with the customer, which again involves sitting in the manumobile as his phone plays great tunes as we drive.

We meet in the breakfast room at half seven, then wait for Chris to arrive outside the hotel at eight before driving to the office. Manu takes his short cut, which seems to take twice as long as using the bypass. But in doing so we get to see lots of lovely brutalist housing from the 1960s. Which was nice.

Before we leave, there is more than enough time for a meeting or two, or the weekly moan as it has been described by more than one person. And there are many moans, but then it helps to share the pain I think.

Eleven, and it is time to leave. Manu programs his phone, and we are treated to the Album version of Uncertain Smile, the one with Jools bloody Holland going plinky plonky all over the ending. I hates it, and Manu and Chris laugh at my pain as the ending goes on. And on. And on.

Much better is E=EM squared, of which I know pretty much every line, and so entertain them both inbetween snapping scenes outside the car, so I can illustrate this post. We sing along to songs by Spandau Ballet, The Cure among others. Hard to believe this is work and not some jolly boy's outing. Even the traffic is kind, with the Brussels ring road only having one small hold up, so we go round to the west and north before taking the road to Leuven, then down past the castle, over the canal into the city centre the the underground car park, which for some reason has birdsong broadcast into its concrete depths. Not sure quite why, but they do get louder as we near the exits.

Up the steps and over the street to the faceless office block, and headfirst into the meeting.

Once that is done, we do the usual walk to the main square, past the cathedral, which I will go in one day to take shots. but not today, as we have an appointment with Dr. Post-meeting pint.

Now, I suppose I should explain what happened next. See, we all like a beer, and Belgian beer is better than most. And there is a great variety and choice. But there is one beer, supposedly the best beer in the world, that if anywhere was going to sell it, it would be at The Capital.

Westvleteren 12 is brewed by trappist monks to support their monastery, and in 2005 the beer was voted the best beer in the world, they have resisted to produce more to keep up with demand. In fact they have made it harder, rationing supplies and the rules by which people can buy crates. So, with all this history and expectation, could the beer live up to it?

With bottles of 330ml selling for €14 in the bar, we have two to share between 5 of us, so we can all get a taste and enjoy the beer. It is dark ruby in colour, and strong. Sweet nose with a long fine, sweet aftertaste making it very pleasant indeed. As to whether the beer was worth it, is up to the drinker, but I suppose it is a tick in the box, and one we were all happy to mark off. We each moved onto something lighter and hoppy afterwards.

I have to meet with another colleague back in Oostende, so the usual burger mid-afternoon meal is cancelled this month, so Chris and I walk back to the station to catch the 17:34 direct train. The heavens had opened, and rain was hammering down, meaning the usual dawdling shoppers were thin on the ground. We buy our tickets, then go down the subway to wait for the train to arrive, giving me time to make calls and shout at a few people. As you do.

We pour ourselves into the first class seats, and relax as the train makes its way to Brussels, then rattled through the points and tunnels which mark the railway centre of the city. After leaving Midi, the train is full, of commuters who seem to be smiling, as they all seem to have seats. Rain rattles on the windows, and the train empties as we call at Gent and Brugge.

We crawl into Ostende at twenty past seven, and the rain is falling harder. And with a ten minute walk to Den Artiest, we decide to be sensible and get a taxi. Only we pick the only taxi driver in town who has not heard of it, even after showing him the address. We direct him to near it, then scramble out and get to the restaurant as soon as possible.

Rune arrives, so we can order food and drinks: ribs and a La Chouffe for me. And again the ribs are dry and not good. Should have had the steak! Inbetween mouthfuls, we talk about life, music and the pursuit of happiness.

Only trouble, of course, was the ten minute walk in the pouring rain back to our accommodation, by which time we were three drowned rats, soaked to the skin.