Arrived home yesterday evening.
Unpacked everything. My house a mess.
During the short holiday Mary asked me how my house was doing.
I answered: a mess.
It’s even worse now.
This T I didn’t want to have. It wasn’t looking good.
I bought it a the auction of the Kent Beerfestival, the last evening, festival staff only.
My money went to a good cause. The T to me.
I will be leaving tomorrow. Poperinge it’ll be.
That’s close to Westvleteren. Close to Vleteren also. Where they make Antiek.
I’m pretty sure that we’re gonna visit the 1st brewery. 2 Crates are waiting for us.
Maybe we’ll visit the Deca brewery also. In Vleteren.
But that depends. If my American friends are experienced enough riding their bikes we will go there.
So people have to wait several days for the next T.
We won’t have wifi in Poperinge, you see.
Her breasts are hanging at my back.
I don’t bother about it too much.
But it’s a pity that people, when they see me standing behind the counter of the shop, have to look at the logo of the Winthrop Brewery.
They could have seen so much more.
This is 1 of those T’s everybody wanted to have.
I was glad I collected it in the UK. At a beerfestival.
I knew it would be difficult for other people to arrive at such a happening.
I don’t like to wear the same clothes as other people do.
Especially when it’s the same T.
There was 1 guy who managed to get it.
I won’t serve him beer when he’s wearing the same T today.
They said they liked this one the most. It would fit me the best.
Of all the shirts they had seen at the GABF, the Great American Beer Festival.
I thought it was alright. I was too happy people brought a T back home especially for me.
Although I’m not a Goth.
And that quilt, that’s what we call a grand foulard.
Each night I’m sleeping underneath it.
Unless it’s dirty. Than it’s hanging here, where it’s hanging now, waiting for the moment it’s dry enough to be used again.
The sign says that people got to take care of their bathhouse tickets.
The brewery I work in used to be a public bathhouse.
Funny they made a special sign for it.
I sometimes think we should make a sign to ask people to bring their glasses back inside.
But that always reminds me of a Dutch owned campsite in Belgium.
They had signs for everything.
Don’t put certain dirt in the bins at toilets.
No fire after a certain time.
At 8 the dustbin would be emptied. No dustbags were therefore accepted between 8 & ½ 9.
Payment should be done before 12. Otherwise one should be registered for another day.
Everywhere. Handwritten signs. Laws. You shouldn’t break.
It was not so long after the ending of the war in Serbia the couple entered the beershop.
I think I told them the only beerthings I collected was beershirts.
This is a beershirt, the man said, pointing at his shirt.
So we swopped.
But nowhere on the T it says it is beer. Or that it is about beer.
I do believe the man. I know it’s beer.
But I don’t dare to wear it.
So I’ll just do it today.
I don’t accept remarks about it though.
I love floors. Taking photographs of it.
I didn’t know floors were that nice to look at, untill I started searching for locations to photograph my shirts.
It can be so filthy.
Strange objects on it.
Holes.
Paint.
Dust.
Colours.
It suits so nicely with certain T’s.
I’m afraid you’re about to see lots of floors. With T’s laying on it off course.
This is where I sit. Mondays, Tuesdays and/or Wednesdays.
During the afternoon. Just for 1 hour. Maybe a little bit more.
During 2 beers, one could say.
Reading, that’s all I do. Besides drinking those beers.
Maybe a little chat with the bartenders.
Trying not to get distracted by other customers.
I want to read. As much as possible.
And here I can concentrate.
Better than staying at home, where internet is on 24/7.
I woke up after a long day of hard working.
I remembered Sas was celebrating her birthday.
I’d better take a shower, I thought.
I’d better shave some hear underneath my beard.
I’d better change shirts.
I’d better turn on a T that’s looking like summer.
Italian, I thought.
I’d better take something with me.
Italian beer, I thought.
That’ll suit my T.
Lilith.
Produtta e imbottigliata presso il Birrificio Bruton.
At least it looks good with my shirt.
