For the love of…

I get up at 7AM on Saturday, wash, pack some more things, have breakfast and the usual, and close the door at 8.30. The plan was to take my bike to Mons by train so I could bike from the station to Flénu where the festival was held. I decide to take the metro to the train station. At the metro stop I realise my monthly ticket has expired; while I’m renewing it at the machine, I see the metro pass. It goes every 12 minutes. Then, as I put my wallet back to my backpack, its zip, which would open on its own from time to time for a while, decide to give it up once and for all. Of course, I don’t have any other bags I could put on the bike, so I go back home, pack everything into my smallest suitcase, leave the bike and go back to the metro station, resigning myself to missing the 9:28 train. There’s one at 10:05 anyway. A tiny part of me is grateful, for as much as I love biking and the independence of it, biking 6 kms in an unknown town, at night and probably under 0°C might not be the best for me now.
I arrive to Bruxelles-Central without further problems, have a coffee and go to platform 4, which is then changed to platform 6, and wait. At 10:06, I see the train, rather short, which has stopped at the other end of the platform, leave.
I take the next train (10:28), wait another half an hour for my connection at La Louviére – Sud, does not matter but I will remember at this point, I arrive to Mons a bit later than the time I should have arrived to Flenu, walk to the hostel, get a key-card, go up to the second floor only to realise the card does not work, go downstairs, upstairs again, leave the linens on the bed,go back to the station, or, to be precise, to the square next to, which is under reconstruction along with the station, spend a good amount of time on finding where my bus leaves from, realise I have another half an hour until it passes, have a coffee.
About 13:30, I arrive to Flénu, missing almost half of the workshop I signed up to. I try to make the most of what remains, in spite of my bad mood. It does help that the workshop is on live music; it helps even more when the teacher, who has not noticed my late arrival, calls me as one to perform a short improvisation to the other participant – and I’m surprised some would be so surprised at seeing me dance.
The evening went on with an open stage performance that did not go as well as I would have liked, and which – at least my piece – was seen only by about one third of the audience, all the others queuing up for dinner behind the stage;
a dance-fashion show during which I was changing back to normal clothing, but of which I catch one of the models, wearing the dress I had been eyeing before, and who happened to be more or less my size;
a dance show with the wonderful orchestra of Safaa Farid and some truly amazing dancers;
and I concluded it with the most impulsive purchase I’ve ever made in my life.
I arrived home on sunday around 3PM, and, discounting a short break for dinner, I slept until next morning.

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