A very wet, dark, cold Sunday morning in Brussels. Sounds uninviting? On the contrary. Au contraire mes jeunes filles. A perfect day for some sightseeing—or rather, pilgrimages—when the rain will hopefully keep people off the streets. There was also the small matter of a riot in central Brussels last night that I slept through, around Bourse and Lemonnier and bottom of Avenue du Stalingrad—Moroccans celebrating their team’s 2-0 World Cup Qualification win confronted by water cannon-wielding Brussels police. I’m not going to say where I would like to visit today in my pilgrimages, as I always saw where I’m going to go later but then never do, so I will tell you afterwards if it happens. Though if I only told you what I’d actually DONE rather than what I’m planning to DO that would wipe out 99% of my writing—and a good thing too, you might be thinking. Please don’t be like that. Madames et Monsieurs, bear with me. I’ve had a hard life, and I don’t need any more opprobrium from you, thank you very much. Merci beaucoup, mes amis.