Cultural Lads on Tour: Bruges, Belgium

Belgium is a country I have never before considered going to. In fact, prior to my trip there last week, I lived in a state of blissful ignorance with regards to all things Flemish. The reason for the trip then was absolutely nothing to do with me, but it turned out to be a highly fulfilling experience. The architect of this little week-long adventure was my good friend Lawrence ‘Slutty’ Mason (a well-earned if slightly ironic nickname). For a while my friends from school and I have wanted to go on holiday together, partly because we were getting sick of London, but also somewhat because of desires to emulate other people of our own age who have been going on ‘lad’s tours’ since they were 15. We decided it was time to break loose from our self-imposed chains and actually attempt to do something fun in someplace other than our well-traversed small section of South East London. Whilst most people our age are heading to Ibiza, Magaluf and other such Brit-friendly destinations, it was decided almost immediately that Belgium was to be the location of our holiday. The ultimate aim of our journey was to reach a music festival with the catchy title of Pukkelpop, but Belgium was also an obvious choice because Slutty’s mother is Belgian, and his dad handily happens to write tourist guides on the country.

Before the festival we decided to spend a night in Bruges. This, it has to be said, was almost entirely due to our love of the film ‘In Bruges’, but it nevertheless happened to be a wise choice. Arriving at the train station it is apparent from the start that Bruges is very touristy, but is also a city with an incredibly relaxed feel. Furthermore, if you venture anywhere outside the immediate centre (around the Markt and the Burg squares) you are hard-pushed to find anyone other than a few gently strolling locals and the odd swan. It was safe to say we were impressed from the start.

After dropping our belongings at the youth hostel we had booked (the American-themed ‘Charlie Rockets’) we set out into the heart of the town accompanied by our pocket student guide and an eastender named James who was staying in our room (he had been abandoned by his travel companion in favour of a visit to a girl in Rotterdam). After the journey from London we were all fairly tired and so decided to leave to majority of the sightseeing for the next day whilst we sampled that famous Belgian speciality – beer. We visited several recommended bars and pubs (including De Garre, which made its own 9% beer), had some 3 Euros spaghetti and eventually settled in Brugs Beertje, a pub with 300 different types of Belgian beer. The night progressed so well that at one point we were having a heated discussion with some English ex-pats who lived in Cyprus about the merits of various beers, including ‘Kwak’, a strange-concoction that came in a weird test tube-like glass. This was absolutely ludicrous considering normally I find it hard to distinguish between a Carlsberg and a Guinness, but it was most definitely a lot of fun. I can however now refute the laughable promises that Belgian beer doesn’t result in a hangover.

Before we had to get the train to Hasselt for the festival I made three crucial observations about Bruges that would prove, mostly, to also account for Belgian as a whole. Firstly Belgian beer is not anything like English beer. It comes in much smaller glasses, but it is far stronger than anything I had tasted back home (with the exception of Special Brew). At one horrific point we found ourselves drinking an 11% concoction. Secondly, like the Netherlands, everyone speaks fantastic English. This was helpful for us, but did leave me feeling a little guilty at our own feeble grasp of foreign languages as a country. The third, and most important observation, was that Bruges was full of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. I was also surprised by how well-dressed they were, characteristics I would normally associate with the French or the Italians. Sitting in the train station resembled being at a fashion show, as beauty after beauty sidled past us. I realise this may sound a bit desperate and perverted, but it honestly was shocking to see so many pretty people in one place. Linked to this observation can be made the point that if you see a woman on a bicycle in Bruges she will, by definition, take your breath away.

Lawrence and I later returned to Bruges after the festival when we explored the medieval city to a greater extent. Whilst the main attractions (the ones that were also visited in the film) such as climbing the Belfry and seeing the relic of the Holy Blood were interesting, we were both in agreement that simply wondering around the canals was the most fulfilling way of spending our time. The area to the south of Bruges around Minnewater was the most scenic. Beautiful parks, a range of different bridges and stunning buildings assault your senses from every direction. The beauty of Bruges is also that it is quite small, so these attractions were a mere ten minute walk from the centre of town. Compared to the hustle and bustle of Ghent, Bruges is a far more relaxing and aesthetically-pleasing city with arguably more on offer to see than its larger sibling. Its size does however limit the amount of time required to make the most of it, but means that as a weekend-break destination it is hard to beat.

The Goal That Never Was

One of the talking points in English football this weekend was Crystal Palace’s disallowed goal against Bristol City. Whilst I would not normally take the time out to write an appraisal of the pros and cons of using touchline technology in football, this time was particularly controversial, because on this occasion it was my team that suffered.

In case you missed it this was not a case of the ball going slightly over the line, but of the ball actually hitting the back of the net. More precisely, when Freddie Sears volleyed the ball past the Bristol City goalkeeper it hit the stanchion holding the net in place and ricocheted back out of the goal instantly, thereby causing confusion. Footage of the ‘goal’ can be seen here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/football/eng_div_1/8204164.stm.

To add salt to the wounds Bristol City scored a winner in the 89th minute leaving everyone involved with Crystal Palace feeling pretty glum. On the upside however we found ourselves with a brilliant excuse as to why we lost. Such a distraction has been seized upon by the usually reserved Palace manager Neil Warnock and equally shy chairman Simon Jordan. Unfortunately the manner in which they have gone about their complaints has not been particularly dignified, nor has it always been well-aimed.

Certainly errors were made during the game. Firstly was the fact that four officials missed an incident that was blindingly obvious to everyone else. Secondly, and perhaps the biggest mistake by the referee and his assistants, was their failure to look at the player and fan reactions and use a bit of common sense. Sears and the Palace players wheeled away to the corner flag in celebration, whilst the Bristol City players and fans were obviously dejected. Do they really believe that a player would hit the post, or indeed put the ball wide, and then pretend to have scored? It seems incredible to think that this was the conclusion they may have come to.

Warnock was right in saying that the referee had not meant to get the decision wrong, but then somewhat foolishly turned on Bristol City. Feeling he had gone a little too long without making enemies he claimed that Gary Johnson and his players had “cheated” and “could have shown more sportsmanship because they knew it was a goal”. Whilst the Bristol players knew that it was a goal, it takes a very courageous person to admit such to the referee and volunteer to concede a goal when the scores were tied. For one thing they would incur the wrath of the home fans. It reminded me of the incident in a Manchester United and Tottenham match of a few years ago when Roy Carroll dropped the ball into his own net before scooping it out and pretending it hadn’t crossed the line. It may be bad-sportsmanship, but officials are there to decide what is right and what is wrong. Warnock was rightly frustrated, but he picked the wrong fight.

The main culprit in this case, as far as I can see it, is UEFA itself. They are the only organisation with the power to implement the type of goal line technology that is long overdue. This is an old and oft-mentioned argument, but if they can have touch-judges in rugby, and third-umpires in cricket, why on earth can’t something be done about football? Possibly it has something to do with the communist football organisation wanting to have everything uniform in the game of football. It would definitely cost a lot to implement such systems in every league in the world. Football however is the most lucrative sport on the planet, and it needs to keep up with the times. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to start introducing trial systems in certain leagues?

The fact of the matter is that goals are the most important aspect of football, and if they can’t be judged correctly then football can’t be conducted correctly. I’ve yet to hear anyone in England put forward an argument against touchline technology, and it seems somewhat hilarious the amount of times the same arguments are versed each season. Famously last season a goal was given in the Watford versus Reading match that hadn’t gone anywhere near crossing the line. Such goals change matches. In any case, if goal-line technology is yet to be introduced, why on earth is there a law that states that the fourth official cannot view a replay of events and then make the correct decision? It all seems a case of bureaucracy gone mad. In the meantime the referee in question, Rob Shoebridge, has been suspended and thus made the scapegoat until the next inevitable incident. Oh, and Crystal Palace have been offered an apology for his mistakes. It is not an apology that we, nor any other football fan, would want however. Something has to be done to prevent, or at least lessen, the number of these incidences that occur.

In Bruges

‘In Bruges’ is a film that I had only heard good things about before I actually saw it. Experience has taught me that this is rarely a good thing. Sacha Baron Cohen’s ‘Borat’ was universally praised by critics and my friends alike, but by the time I finally got round to viewing it, a good three months after everyone else in the world, I was left with a mighty sense of disappointment. Of course it was funny, but I was expecting it to be, and all of the best jokes I had already overheard via my loud-mouthed fellow students. I did not find the naked wrestling scene funny, for example, because I had already heard it described in excruciating detail and it was therefore not as shocking as it must have been for the unsuspecting cinema-goer. Similarly I recently saw the stag-do comedy ‘The Hangover’ at the cinema. Whilst I did think that it was a very good film, the sheer hype that had grown up around it, as well as the brilliance of the trailer, meant that despite laughing almost constantly throughout it I came out of the Brixton Ritzy trying to pretend I wasn’t just a little bit disappointed it hadn’t been better. But maybe I’m just fussy.

With ‘In Bruges’ however, I found it to be a case of the film bettering my expectations. Everyone I knew that had seen it encouraged me to do likewise, and with good reason. The story follows two Irish hit men, played brilliantly by Colin Farrell (of Ballykissangel fame) and Brendan Gleeson, who hideout in the Belgian city of Bruges after a job in London. The cockney boss baddie is played by Ralph Fiennes (who you may know as the uncle of the child who plays young Voldemort in the Harry Potter films) with what struck me as a slightly over-the-top accent, in nonetheless a good performance.

The film provides many funny moments, despite its heavy use of swearing and graphically violent nature. Farrell is at the heart of all of the best parts, from his wide-eyed amazement at the sight of a movie about midgets being filmed, to his violent reaction to being threatened by a bottle-wielding Canadian woman. The plot cleverly weaves its way through a multitude of little incidences, many which have greater significance towards the end of the film, all the while using the picturesque Belgian city as a backdrop. The relationship between the two leads is particularly amusing, and is highly reminiscent of a typical family holiday as one character (Gleeson) attempts to soak in the medieval culture, whilst the other (Farrell) spends most of his time childishly complaining.


It is indeed the characters that make the film so watchable. Despite their murderous natures you find yourself warming to all of them, even Fiennes’ ‘Harry’. Director Martin McDonagh (whom I must admit I had never heard of before) relates his comic-book characters to ordinary life in a sophisticated manner that, despite who they represent, allows the viewer to relate to them. One moment that sticks out is Harry’s anger at finding out that Gleeson’s Ken has not killed Farrell’s Ray. As he slams down his phone repeatedly his wife reminds him that it is just an “inanimate object”, to which he instantly retorts, “You’re a fucking inanimate object!”, before apologising moments later. Such a confrontation, irrespective of what triggered it, could easily be an argument in any family’s house.

The film is not just a comedy, but deals with issues of guilt and redemption. Farrell’s character, we learn, accidentally killed a child in the botched assassination that has led them to Bruges, and this provides both the drive of the plot (the gangster boss orders him to be killed by Gleeson), and the surprisingly touching moments that litter the film. Farrell is plagued by sadness, but McDonagh does not allow the film to become overly sentimental. When Ken raises the issue early on in the film for example, an obviously-distraught Farrell remarks “Why the fuck did you have to bring that up?” And the subject is not raised again for a while. The most touching moment of the film, and also one of its funniest, occurs when Ken is walking up behind Ray to shoot him in the back of the head. However when he is about the pull the trigger Ray raises his gun to his own head, prompting Ken to prevent him from killing himself. The rest of the film concerns Ken’s attempts to help the suicidal Ray, despite all the obstacles.

The characters are weird and wonderful, yet to a certain degree believable, the setting seems apt and indeed plays an important role in the story, and the humour throughout the film provides ample entertainment. What makes the film really great however is the love of the characters, especially Ken’s towards Ray. We later find out that Ken holds a debt to Harry, yet he forgoes it to help the young, misguided man. It is haunting to watch Ken, bleeding at the top of the church tower, reach into his pockets for the four Euros ninety cents (that he had earlier attempted to pay for his visit to the medieval building) before dropping them down through the mist below to clear the way for his hurtling body, all in an attempt to save Ray’s life. I cannot wait to watch this film again.