After the house of puppets I felt an uncontrolable urge to sample the Lambic delights of La Fleur en Papier Dore. Almost as though my limbs were pulled by hidden strings. I also had a sense of déjà vous, a fact born out by the barkeeps walking over and saying "I know you. Last time you were in here you were wearing a Motorhead teashirt.". Memories of playing cards here came flooding back, Sylvain with some extra ones tucked up his sleave. The ace of spades, the ace of spades....
The beer this time was Oud Beersel. Flat, slightly sour and a perfect accompaniment to the blood sausage roll sitting on my plate.
The Gold Plated Flower was originally part of a 19th century nunnery. I can hear the penguins now, berating the drunken cavorting that now ensues within.
-- Posted from my iPhone
1 comment:
George, I'm happy to see someone making excellent use of the book. (And since I can't find your e-mail on your blog, would you mind dropping me a line via mine?)
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