Not so much in spring, as in an Antarctic winter.

We're packing our suitcase for tomorrow. We're going to Paris, where I will attend a seminar on organisational development from Wednessday until Friday. So that gave us the opportunity to add two days for ourselves. Mrs.B will stay until Tuesday evening, so we'll have (almost) two days to stroll around in the big city under the Eiffel tower.

We've both been in Paris before, when we were students. So that's a long time ago, but Paris will be Paris. I expect the Seine will still be there, and the Louvre, and the Arc de Triomphe and of course the Champs Elysées. And there will be real french croissants with the truck load all for Mrs.B, and French cuisine and cafés and...

Ooooh, I can't wait!

Mrs.B and I have an announcement to make:

 Those of you who want to knit baby socks: you have until the 14th of September. Unless he or she decides to pop up two weeks early like his/her big brother.

Wolf said he would like a baby sister. I second that motion, but Mrs.B says she can't make any promisses.

I've been at home since Monday, when my body simply refused its normal duties to get up at the sound of Mrs.B's alarm (I mean the sound of her alarm clock of course). For once, I haven't been sneezing the tiles off the roof, it's just that I feel like a wet mop. I couldn't hit a dent in a wet newspaper at the moment.

The doctor said I've got a throat infection, which really surprised me. Normally this means I can hardly breathe, won't be able to eat for at least three days and have to invent a new coctail of drugs to get enough relieve from the pain to allow me to sleep.

The first two days I've been sleeping a lot, but now I've reached the stage where my mind says 'ok, let's get back to business', but my body still isn't up to shape by a mile. I actually feel the pain in my upper arms as I type this. When I climb up the stairs, snails agressively sound their horn and overtake me while waving their middle finger at me (yes, we have snails with middle fingers in this house).

So there's nothing else to do besides feeling immensely bored and watch daytime television. On a positive note: I've infected Mrs.B so she had to stay at home today too. Haha! Well, that would be funny if it didn't mean that I now have to share the remote and don't have the house to myself any more. I hate to have people around me when I'm ill. Just leave me to rot in peace, thank you very much.

I left my umbrella on the train yesterday morning. Again. It was a pretty crappy umbrella, it was one of those compact models that shoot up and open when you push a button. But mine would open by itself, at random moments. This is especially annoying because I carry it attached to my rucksack, between the pack itself and my back. This had huge potential for comedy, as it would open invariably when I would cross a corridor or stand in the elevator. Suddenly the handle would should out and catch passers-by or bystanders.

Of course, ever since I've lost it, it's been raining every time I go out. And the weatherman said it's going to rain all week. And the week after too, probably. Unless I buy me a new umbrella quickly, Belgium will drown and we'll have mudslides and stuff like on Madeira.

Our neighbour Jeff died last week from a hearth attack. I went to his funeral yesterday morning.

Jeff was a nice bloke, always ready to help you out. His pride and joy was his vegetable garden, in front of his house, and he would regularly supply us with all kinds of treats. He was always ready for a friendly chat, but once he hooked you he wouldn't let you off for the next forty minutes.

Once Mrs.B had locked herself out, and the only window that was open was on the top floor, right under the roof. So Jeff climbed out of his window on the second floor (third floor for Americans) and walked over the roofs to climb into our window and open the door for Mrs.B.

That was the kind of guy he was.

In his younger years he was an avid motorcross fanatic, he even fought for the Belgian championship title for a couple of times. In his old age, he would still tinker with bikes and make a lot of racket when he tested them, together with his son.

We'll miss him.

6.27 AM/6.30 AM: Mrs.B's alarm goes off, with its high pitched voice. 'Time to get up', she shouts in the optimistic voice of a true morning person.

I ignore her. I will not listen to her, nor wake up, because it's not 6.30 yet. Her alarm clock is wrong and mine is right. My alarm clock/radio says it is 6.27, so hers is wrong. I don't care if she says that hers is right because it has the same time as the television's clock downstairs (which gets its time from the cable company). I don't need to verify my alarm clock's time because I know I am right and she is wrong.

Moreover, it is entirely besides the point whether it is 6.30 or not. I do not get up before 6.35. My schedule would fall apart in shambles if I got out five - nay seven! - minutes before my waking up time.

Mrs.B will not listen to reason, especially not when it's proclaimed as a series of mumbling noises and grunts from under the duvet. She throws the blankets away. My body is suddenly confronted with the winter cold and goes in shock.

Before I can recover and smash my wife to death, she's already stomping around and opening closets and making noise and throwing items on clothing on the bed. I feebly reach for the duvet but she's on to me and uses physical violence to get me up.

I'm very tickly.

So she storms out and I follow her down the stairs, trying not to trip over and mentally preparing myself for another glorious day.

---

6.57 AM/7.00 AM: Mrs.B barges into Wolf's room and yells in a high pitched voice: 'Time to get up'.

Wolf ignores her. He will not listen to her, nor wake up. Mum is wrong and his biological clock is right. It's still too early to play, so mum is wrong. He don't cares if she says that its 'waky-waky time' because he doens't have to pee. If he doesn't have to pee it is clear the he is right and she is wrong.

Mrs.B will not listen to reason, especially not when it's proclaimed as a series of mumbling noises and grunts from under the duvet. She throws the blankets away. His little body is suddenly confronted with the winter cold and goes in shock.

Before he can recover and smack his mother on the head, she's already stomping around and opening closets and making noise and throwing items on clothing on the bed. Wolf feebly reaches for the duvet but she's on to him and puts him on his potty.

Ok, he DOES have to pee.

So she pushes him out of the room and he climbs down the stairs, trying not to trip over and mentally preparing himself for another glorious sandwich with chocolate paste.

I just spent half an hour trying to log in, getting more and more confused until I almost started to panic. I tried every password I've been using for the past six months, but nothing would work. Did I make an error while resetting my password the last time?

The I noticed 'Caps lock' was on.

It will take me two weeks to recover from feeling this stupid.

I really, REALLY hate weblogs with white text on a black background. Especially when they have a small typeface. After reading three sentences my eyes go twirling around and everythings becomes blurry.

Or I should stop drinking vodka while browsing weblogs.

It's snowing again...