Paris to Antwerp..

Namibian waltzed into Catering last night, looking trim and virile in his new Swedish cardigan. I complimented him. He’s “back in black”, you might say, an AC/DC reference that’ll be lost on most of you if you’re anything like me.

Anyway, rather than just thank me for noticing how slimming the colour black is on him, he has the gall to claim: ‘I’ve not eaten nothing for two days.’

Double negative aside, this is perfect balderdash – not twenty-four hours ago, he was seen, first-hand, gulping down a bison burger in a riverside steakhouse.

It was the sort of joint that ought to have six foot stunning waitresses on roller skates…but, in practice,  a sullen poor-complexioned girl threw menus at us and got our drinks wrong.

Ah, it’s always a sigh of relief to leave Paris unscathed; the standard of driving really is appalling. If it were not for landmarks like the Eiffel Tower, it would differ only marginally from Vietnam.

Actually, the driving is a little worse there – click the link for thirty seconds of craziness – but not much. So, with Paris behind us, we can relax, put on cruise control and set the alarm clock for the Belgian border..