Got a phone call from Bill this morning. Are ye already on your way down? Indeed I was. All right, no problem, see ye so in two minutes. And he hang up. Waa, panic, only two minutes to get in town. Need at least 15. So I forced myself and walked, run actually, as quick as I could to Saint Patricks bridge. All sweaty and sore shinbones (I always get that when I go downhill to fast, feels like a cramp, really painfull) No Bill there of course. Two Irish minutes equals about twenty Belgian minutes. Just forgot about that.
Saskia
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