It's your shout.

'For let, 1 bedroom apartment in the heart of vibrant Leuven, surrounded by shops, cafes and bars, this furnished apartment is ideally located for anyone looking to experience European life at its finest.' No doubt the agents who handle the apartment Miss K and I find ourselves in probably advertised it something like that. Sounds great, sounds promising, as it should. How about this though; 'For let, 1 bedroom apartment in a town populated mostly by university students, in a street filled with bars and cafes, in a country that has one of the highest rates of beer consumption in the world.' Yes indeedy, the revellers are out in force and they are happy, boisterous young things who are full of...well, beer.
For the first time in my life I am living in the heart of a city, right on one of the busiest streets. So what do I do with this opportunity? Well, I have become a curtain twitcher. I'm not proud of it, but I spend my time peering out at the street as groups of party animals go loudly by on foot, or worse still, on bikes. I am like a bearded Mrs Mangels, more like Alby Mangels I suppose.
Miss K and I are on the corner of a main street and a small lane as well as opposite a lane. Both of these lanes lead, inevitably, to more bars. So we're a hub for drunks and socialites everywhere. Down the road a bit is a jazz club that seems to be the place to be, not that we can ever hear any jazz though, only the dull doof of random techno. Still, it makes life interesting to be able to look out the window at the leaders of tomorrow partying hard and shouting drunkenly as they weave up the street. Last night there was even one optimistic soul strumming a guitar as he walked. I'm not sure what the tune was as he had skillfully hidden it between the bad notes.
So that's a Tuesday night in Leuven. Can't wait to see how things are when people get properly revved up on a weekend.
Apart from people watching, I have been fridge watching. The small fridge in the apartment has an interesting work ethic. As soon as our backs are turned it stops working altogether, takes a coffee break using our slowly warming milk. If someone was to prank call me and ask, 'Is your fridge running?' I would most likely be able to honestly answer, 'No, thanks for the reminder.' The problem is that the fridge needs a certain special touch to get it up and running again. A special touch which consists of a solid thump on both sides, it's like jump starting a heart. I shout 'clear' and give the thing the a solid kick start. I'm like the Fonz, only with a fridge instead of a jukebox, a well placed thump will get that baby singing and I turn around to the usually empty apartment and say, 'Heeyyy'. I know you were thinking the same thing.
So that's my day, spying out the window, beating up fridges and indulging my inner Fonzie. I am also doing serious work, using my time for other than frivolous pursuits, I promise. Plus, on a positive note, we will be out later in the week with the students, we will be the revellers on the street, making the most of the experience. I just hope that bloody fridge doesn't stop running...