STIB's answer

In the spirit of fairness, I'm posting the STIB's answer to my email.

"Nous vous remercions de nous avoir fait parvenir votre message.
Celui-ci contient quelques contre-vérités que nous tenons immédiatement à dénoncer.
D'abord la gestion des espaces verts ne dépend pas de la STIB, mais bien de la Région qui a pour charge d'entretenir et de prendre tout disposition utile, notamment pour ce qui concerne le danger potentiel présenté par des arbres malades. Nous ne pensons pas que tous ceux qui critiquent tout sans prendre évidemment la moindre part de responsabilité seraient d'accord de voir des arbres malades menacer la vie des personnes qui passent sous leur frondaison.
D'autre part, le gabarit des trams de la STIB est standardié à 230 cm de large depuis l'achat des T200 en 1991. L'espacement entre les voies a été modifié aux rares endroits où c'était nécessaire. Il ne doit donc plus l'être.
Enfin, votre opinion selon laquelle notre achat de tram de grande capacité est impensé est complètement contredit par le succès qu'ils remportent, au point que notre direction doive acquérir rapidement des véhicules supplémentaires.
Avec nos meilleures compliments,
Daniel VAN BOECKEL
Relations Clientèle
02/515-5083"

OK. Let's take this answer bit by bit.
1) They pass the buck to the Region of Brussels, who wouldn't be felling the trees if the STIB hadn't asked them to.
2) They repeat the insinuation that all the trees being felled are ill. This is clearly not so.
3) They state that the trams have been standardised at 230cm since 1991. That's only one of 2 directions and it looks like width to me. What about height?
4) The success of the trams with the clientele (they are LOVELY trams) and their need to buy more, which I'm entirely behind, does not compensate for the tree-felling.
5) They provide no statistical argument (n° of diseased trees) or evidence of monitoring or verification that unneccessary tree-felling is not occurring.

I think it's a pretty weak answer. What do you think?

Fahrt

Ich fahrt nach Frankfurt am wochen-einde beim Thalys, nicht am flugzeug. Ich gruss Sie und wunsch Sie eine schönes Wochen-einde.

Tchuss meine liebelinge!

Support the Dryads

I have to take a little of your time to garner support for a very local cause. The STIB, Brussels' integrated transport system, which forbids us to link to its sites so here is the index page URL, is cutting down trees unnecessarily and it's a crying shame. Both Tippler and Up Front have tackled this issue, please read their posts, and they'll refer you to the the "Protection des Marroniers" petition site, but I'd like you ask you all to visit the STIB's "Quality of Service" email form on http://www.stib.irisnet.be/FR/61200F.htm and let them know what you think. For those of you who do not wish to spend 20 minutes composing something in French, may I suggest you cut and paste the following text:

Il parait que de plus en plus des arbres des grandes avenues de Bruxelles se font abattre par la STIB suite à un achat impensé de trams trop larges, sous prétexte qu'ils seraient tous atteints d'une maladie qui n'afflige en réalité que très peu d'arbres. Ces arbres font partie du patrimoine historique de Bruxelles, contribuent à leur poumon vert et donc à la santé publique des Bruxellois, et sont un atout important dans ses industries de tourisme et d'HORECA en terrasse. Ceci est honteux et aussi économiquement maladroit.

J'appelle à l'arrêt de ces abattages tant qu'une étude complète des coûts associés dans l'environnement, en santé publique et en perte de revenus de tourisme et autres industries associés soit faite, publiés, et les résultats pris en compte. *

I am going to provide them with my email address. I am curious to see what on earth they could say that I would consider a satisfactory reply.

Yes, I do know the dryads above. Aren't they GORGEOUS. I'm so proud of them.

*(It appears that, further to the ill-considered purchase of excessively wide trams, more and more of the trees on Brussels' great avenues are being cut down by the STIB under the pretext that they are diseased when in fact only a few of their number are affected. These trees are part of the city's historic inheritance, they contribute to its green lung and therefore the public health of Brussels people, and are an important asset for the tourist and terrace café-hotel-restaurant industries. This is a shame and also economically clumsy.

I call for an end to this tree-chopping until a complete economic study of the associated costs in the environment, public health and loss of tourist and other industry revenue has been made, published, and its results taken into account).

That should tie the beggers up for a few years. Then we can get a public health lobby group to sue'em.

Lordy Lordy.

As a treat for Scouse Doris's birthday a while back, we went this afternoon to the matinée presentation of Lord of the Dance. Before it even started we were treated to 10 minutes with the World Champion Rope Skipping Team, DDF I think they call themselves. I remember double dutch in the playground ... and I remember it being a good deal more girly.

As we all sat there aghast, the show began. An ancient Oirish tale of good versus evil, it starts off with an introduction to a small creature in sparkly pyjamas and nightcap who pretends to be playing a much-loved Shaker (weren't they Protestants, what's with that?) melody on a tin whistle. The tune is sweet, as Aaron Copeland has pointed out, but the mannerisms are maddening and the "Little Spirit" was lucky I didn't have my bow and arrow on me. It awakens a bunch of flower fairies, all legs and hair extensions, who prance around for a bit without their clogs on and then have a dance-off with Morrighan, the wicked hussy, or at least as wicked as Bonnie Langford fallen on hard times and forced to take up pole dancing can get. I might add that this woman is wearing a shorter version of my red dress, but as I look much better in it I find it in my heart to forgive her. Then Don Dorcha, the evil leader of the Dark Warrior clan comes onstage with his Cybermenesque cronies. Despite the Russian Mafia purple and black shell suit trousers and the somewhat plump anatomically correct armour, the dancing was very virile.

At this point Scouse Doris murmured to me "I'm with him!".

A loud bang is let off, after which it's defibrillators all round which distracted us somewhat from Saoirse's solo, and then came two lassies with some very hot violins. Then the ladies come on in their prim Oirish dancing costumes and leap about for a bit until Morrighan influences them at which point, in true Buck's Fizz stylee, they rip their dresses off to reveal shamrocked gym kit. Not surprisingly at this point the eponymous hero, who has a belt with his name on in case you haven't worked out which one to root for yet, leaps onstage with his knights companion in their skintight tops with silver buttons on. The famous chorus line to the Shaker tune then ensues.

Interval. Scouse Doris and I reach for the chocolate ice-cream like an ageing librarian for the G&T when forced by his mother to dine with the vicar's spinster sister.

Act 2. On comes the Spirit with her bloody tin whistle again, followed by Don Dorcha and his Warriors who tease her, steal it from her and then break it. At this point, Scouse Doris and I broke into a small and lonely bout of applause. In comes the Lord of the Dance and he and his men fight off the baddies in quite a magnificently virile show of Irish dancing. For reasons I have yet to fathom the Lord of the Dance mends the Spirit's bloody tin whistle. Despite this heinous act for which he should have been roundly booed, Saoirse still manages to find him sufficiently fanciable as a partner for a romantic dance between the male and female characters. After this the support dancers come onstage in Strictly Ballroom-style day-glo leotards for a set piece dance during which a little light relief was finally provided when one of the men fell over and the rest of them got the giggles. Erin the Goddess (the singer) then sang something rather sad about missing Carrickfergus, although the lyrics seemed suspiciously familiar from the Skye Boat Song.

Then the Lord and Saoirse come on for a bit of a dance but Morrighan is waiting and she distracts him (all men are the same). Gentlemen, be warned. See what happens when a man lets himself be distracted by a loose woman: he is captured by the dark henchmen and taken to Don Dorcha's palace where he is danced at until he disappears in a puff of smoke and a loud explosion. Out with the defibrillators again. Don Dorcha claims the Lord of the Dance Belt, which I wouldn't want personally due to all the sweat. But it turns out that the Lord has been saved by the annoying Little Spirit elf thing who's grateful he mended her tin whistle, and he returns to challenge the Dark Lord in a quite magnificent duel, and everyone comes onstage and dances that chorus line again until their shoes fly off into the audience.

I haven't laughed so much in ages. It was worth every penny.

A first grey hair

I have found my first grey hair. I was poking at it in a mirror near the lifts at work when a male colleague stopped and looked at me quizzically.

"I've found my first grey hair." I announced in mournful tones, suggesting that it was but the scouting harbinger of an entire army and that I could give away my glad rags and settle into a black mourning dress for my lost and insufficiently mis-spent youth and perhaps even take to massage stockings and those shopping trolleys that one trails after one like a plaid, plastic dog.

He thought for a bit and said "well, when you look at it from my point of view, a grey hair is a hair I've still got".

Politics

And as the Beeb settles for a week of non-stop clematis trimming, a girl's thoughts turn to alternative activities. Politics, of course, is always a popular pastime for those with nothing better to do with their leisure hours. Daphne is painting Madrid red, which sounds far less boring than it probably is, and Tippler and Eliab have found a politician prepared to offer them personal services, apparently not even in exchange for a vote. Honey is observing riots in her street and raging herself about another issue, which I must say I agree with her on.


Sport of course is a far more useful pastime than politics although sometimes the two can be combined. Issues such as immigration have certainly been tackled effectively by the Iranian cycling team. Economics come into play when it comes to taking up sports activities. I myself have been pestered by Scouse Doris to join her rather chic gym, but I nearly balked when she explained that in order for weight loss to occurr (other than the extraction of notes from my wallet) I would actually have to GO. My own personal planned economy is affected; but the income allows the gym to employ assorted handmaidens and handimen to fluff towels, etc, thus helping the economy turn and increasing the alluring opportunities Europe can offer. I myself shall be looking out for any buff young Omar Sharifesque Iranian spinning class teachers.

Wedding party

I went to a fabulous wedding party last night. It was held in the Palais des Colonies, and my Indian colleague was celebrating the marriage of his strapping, focused son to a beautiful charming young Mauritian lady. The food was fantastic. The saris were glittering. The company was scintillatingly high-flown and cosmopolitan. I wore a fabulous halterneck chocolate brown silk floor-length frock and felt appropriately elegant. It was a delightful evening of the sort I hope you all get to have often, and all I can say is, Indian grandmothers ROCK, I hope I'll be dancing to bhangra in a jewelled sari at sixty-five.

I am very stiff now. And so tired I'm buzzing. I wish the blogmeet and the wedding had happened on two different weekends. Ah well, needs must where the party devil drives.