The chikenz on the other hand observed that my erstwhile employer most probably has a small team of crack agents monitoring my every move to ensure that I do not do anything that would harm their endeavours.
I was amused to hear this and it did wonders for my self esteem, but I explained to the chikenz that my former employer is not sufficiently organised to undertake such an task and that, even if they were, the likelihood of them finding anything interesting on my blog is remote.
"Ah yes," says the chikenz with a tone of finality that brooks no argument, "but some other people find your blog interesting..."
The ellipsis hangs in the air ominously and I decide that this is the sort of logic against which I am completely helpless. I agree that a small coterie of senior personnel at my erstwhile employer are, at this very moment, secretly studying my blog (Hello Jos, Paul, Piet, Pete and Wim).
Secure in the knowledge that the chikenz never reads the blog, I can say to you now that the reason she holds this opinion is because she does not have the detailed understanding of the Belgian psyche that I have and that I am now about to share with you.
But before we get onto the Belgians, we should first take a look at Belgium. A quick look. That's all we'll need, because, let's face it, it's boring. It's a country whose history consists of long periods of yawning, interspersed with "Oh shit! Here come the Germans!" The foundation of Belgium came as a result of an especially stirring opera leading to a revolution and separation from the Netherlands. In the 186 years since then, they have been trying to become Dutch all over again and the Dutch wont have a bar of it.
Charles de Gaulle, owner of the Paris airport, once claimed that Belgium was a country invented by the British, simply to annoy the French. I think he might be right. Google Belgium and you'll find a long list of folks including Belgium or Brussels in their list of the most boring places in the world.
Surrounded by French cuisine, German efficiency and Dutch porn, poor Belgium was always going to struggle to be noticed. That it didn't even try seems to be the most interesting thing about it.
As for the Belgians themselves, a detailed understanding begins with the fact that they are all called Wim, Piet, Pete, Jos or Paul. Even the women. Several years back, there was a chap called Samuel, but it caused too much confusion and they made him move to Luxembourg. Among Belgians, it is considered the height of sophisticated wit to call your twin children Piet and Pete. Oh, how they laugh. You can picture the scene, Jos and Paul (a young married couple) announcing that they have just had twins and called them Piet and Pete.
"Oh, that's shoo funny!" says Wim and Jos (a slightly older married couple).
"You also have a twinz called Piet and Pete!" says Jos and Paul.
"Yesh, we do!" say Wim and Jos
"Oh, that's shoo funny!" say Jos and Paul.
With repartee like this, as you can imagine, the hours just fly by in Belgium.
A second point to understand is that a Belgian can not pronounced the letter 's'. They say either 'z' or 'sh'. Nor can they pronounce the letter 'j'. They invariably pronounce it as 'y'. In fact the name 'Jos' is actually an elaborate Belgian joke. They pronounce the 'j' as a 'y' and the 's' as a 'z', thereby mispronouncing two-thirds of a three letter name. Oh, how they laugh.
A further difficulty with the letter 's' is that it regularly leads to the expulsion of a fine spray of spittle. It is a little known fact that this is directly responsible for the complete absence of a Belgian surf culture. One Belgian saying to another "I am going shurfing at the sheeshide" would lead to a spray of spittle so thick that a quick shower would be necessary. As a direct result, the Belgian national surfing team has not participated in any event for years. They are forever missing planes owing to needing to take another shower.
Indeed, these difficulties with the letter 's' played no small part in the exile of Samuel all those years ago.
A third (and for now at least) final point to understand is that Belgians see dullness as an attribute to be sought after. They value boredom. They adore conformity. They encourage mediocrity. They actively seek out tedium and banality in the same way that you or I would seek out excitement and interest.
In large measure, this can be summed up with the Belgian expression "De Belg wordt geboren met een baksteen in de maag."
Literally translated, the expression means, "each Belgian is born with a brick in their stomach".
For many years, Belgianologists, such as myself, assumed this to be some sort of commentary on Belgian food. The height of Belgian cuisine is a deep-fried sliver of potato known to much of the world as a chip or, even better, a French Fry. From here it is all a downhill slide into a mountain of witlof. Yes, the chocolate is good and the beer is better, but I'd really like to have at least one more item on the menu.
In any case, the expression on the brick in the stomach is not, as first thought, a commentary on Belgian cuisine, but is in fact a commentary on the Belgian reluctance to travel. Don't ask me why it is such a commentary, it's apparently some sort of metaphor.
But look at it, it's not even a particularly clever or pithy expression. It's not catchy. Every time I write something about it I have to go and look it up again. I think to myself "What was that stultifyingly dull expression that they use again? Something about a brick or something?" Yet, this is what passes for intellectual commentary in Belgium.
For further evidence, go and google for famous Belgians.
You will find that there is an actual website dedicated to this and they are, quite frankly, struggling. The poor chap has even listed Audrey Hepburn as Belgian. Poor woman must be turning in her grave.
The other folks usually noted as "famous Belgians" are Jean-Claude van Damme, Eddy Merckx and Plastic Bertrand. In my opinion, this only serves to further support my point.
Plastic Bertrand trying to think of a famous Belgian
And think about what Belgium is really famous for. It's the home of the EU. The European parliament sits in Brussels, presumably so that they are free of distractions, and makes laws that govern the rest of Europe. These are the folks that decided that olive oil can't be served in glass jugs and that children can't blow up balloons without supervision. These are the folks that conducted a three year study into the matter before determining that there is no evidence that water prevents dehydration. Next thing they'll be making laws on how bent a banana can be. Oh, hang on.
So in summary, this is a country that describes its residents as having ingested a brick at birth, that claims a bad actor, a cyclist and a 1980s head-tilter as its most famous residents and that houses the worlds most bureaucratic bureaucracy.
It's dull.
All of which leads me to the conclusion that they are not monitoring my blog. First of all, their difficulties with the letter 's' would mean that they think my name is spelt "Sane". That alone would prevent them from ever tracking me down. Secondly, it would be quite interesting if they were tracking me. And they're not. So they're not.
What I do think is that they're all wondering who this Shatan fellow is.
And don't tell the chikenz that I disagreed with her.
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