Most of this weekend has been spent lurching from one drunken haze to another. I'd forgotten quite how much Terri can knock it back - which is scary.

The journey over on Friday was quite pleasant. I got into Brussels at about 11pm after relaxing and drinking free champagne and flirting with Mathieu, the steware, for three hours before flopping on Terri's sofa with gin, tonic and a foot massage. That was much fun. I passed out at some ridiculous hour of the morning and woke up on Saturday at about midday.

On Saturday we wandered round town and had something to eat. My French is actually quite confident when I'm not with someone who corrects me all the time, which is interesting. I've had no trouble understanding people although I've been caught out by septante and huitante. (Twelvety...)

Ended up performing a live translation service when Terri decided to go to an optician for an eye test. That was quite bizarre, really. Ah well. ("Elle a dit, 'Les circles sont plus fort sur la verte...'")

After flopping around in the evening, we went round to Terri's friend Pascal's house for his birthday on Saturday evening and I met a god called Laurent, who sort-of snogged me a couple of times, but he was a bit up his own arse. Very aesthetically pleasing, though! I did get to sit and stroke his six pack for most of the evening as he was loving the attention. Entertained all night, as is my raison d'être when I'm drunk. Pascal is enchanting, speaks wonderful English, is desperately generous and a somewhat talented DJ. We seem to have taken a shine to each other and I've been invited back to have a tour of "the bars Terri can't go into." Coo!

On Sunday we slept in late then went to the market to buy lunch; rotisseried chicken with new potatoes and chives, stuffing and salad. Very yummy indeed. It took us ages to eat it as we were in no great rush; very chilled.

During and after we'd eaten, we relaxed infront of EdTV with two bottles of wine and I decided to concur with Gill's greatest wish: for Matthew McConaughey to fill her with his little babies through every orifice imaginable. Egg factor 9, definitely. She can join the queue.

Dinner on Sunday night was a meal with Pascal in "Halloween" - sort of like Belgos, a bit. We ended up going to a bar after that (the name of which I forget) where they had Stéphane Rideau posters in the toilets. Some new film he's in, topless, apparently. Very sexy indeed. Should've stolen one now I think about it. Saw a drag show at "L'Incognito" but I wasn't that thrilled.

After drinking, we went clubbing where I pulled an Italian boy with a huge chest who looked a bit like like Dan Falzon. It was strange that he was Italian as we started off in French then ended up in English for most of the evening. I almost found myself asking "Which language would you like to fuck me in?" He was incredibly eager and I was so tired this morning. He had an annoying little "yappy-type dog" which was cute until it yapped. It does seem to be a very doggy culture. I was made breakfast this morning (coffee and yogurt - nothing that exciting) which almost brought me out of my "go away I'm sleeping" phase.

Had one problem with the taxi driver after my dirty-stop-out who asked of me "J'espere tu as un peu de l'argent" to which I responded "Oui. J'ai beaucoup de l'argent, merci." It was only when we arrived at Terri's apartment and handed him a 2000 franc note that I realised he wanted to know if I had small denomination notes. Oops.

Sitting chilling to music now. This is not a country to come to if you want to give up fags (£1.94 a packet!), booze (about £2.50 for a gin and tonic), or fatty food (in abundance!).