This weekend my parents came to visit my sister. As you can imagine, there were two days of good food, shop and sightsee galore. Among the "Highlites" of the weekend were the Marchée aux Puces, the Delirium Tremens (we are not very original, true), the Museum of Comic and Bruges. Also went to several and varied restaurants: one Italian, one Japanese, one Belgian and one of turist fully Grote Markt in Bruges, the worst and most expensive. The
Marchée aux puces my mother bought me an old photo album with which I am amazed. For a while, just over a year or maybe two, I collect old photos. Especially portraits or everyday life situations (ie, not so much landscapes or the like). I love how people dressed, hair and imagine what happened to them and why they will waste your photos. My new album blew my mind because "narrates the life of a family from 1951 to 1973, so well I can go watch them grow. But I have not had time to see well.
Mary went quickly into the familiar anecdotes after jumping a red light with her in-laws in power in the car. My father asked scared: Does that here you can? ) Obviously not. To top it off, they asked one of the most popular dishes in a Belgian restaurant we went to dinner Saturday: Ris de veau et Rognon the Moutarde et jesequoi . It was fairly proactive and asked what was the 'ris' (neck meat) but he went to ask about the 'Rognon'. When he discovered it was kidney, and the front plate, eat insisted all forms. When I came to the arcades, forced her to quit. There are already similar family experiences, as when Pepe begged my sister not to tell him my mother did not like the gazpacho ... with my mother back. Still, Pepe insisted on drinking a glass and "loved it." Marta says she is his favorite dish. (Pepich, if you're reading me, I'm with you).
On the other hand, Janneke Pis (the little sister of Manneken Pis Meona) miraculously worked this weekend. I think I've said it once: it the marginalized have a blind alley and behind bars ... and above did not work. In Spain already had complained (rightly) an association feminist sexism and wife beating.
Finally I comment what you already know: Spain won yesterday. Yop Mary and went to see him with some friends to a bar near the Asturian Midi station. It was very different compared to the first party and that I only saw me in a Belgian bar and emotion was lower. Instead I cried yesterday, I screwed up (with love) in the Tunisian players and also in English. Furthermore, as we started losing the victory tasted better. And that I'm not furbolero ...
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