After leaving university, Emma Beddington practised as a lawyer. Today she is a freelance writer, who has contributed to ELLE, Red, The Times, the Sunday Times, the Guardian, Condé Nast Traveller and O Magazine. She is also the author of the acclaimed blog Belgian Waffle. She lives in Brussels with her husband and two sons.
by @BelgianWaffling - 2 days ago
@Andr6wMale Yes! Listened this morning, what a story.
by @BelgianWaffling - 4 days ago
@Nonworkingmonke This was my favourite joke for approx 10 years.
JEEZ this Strangers episode brrrrrr https://t.co/R3fzWYZf5Y
RT @mslucycooke: Hyenas r badass matriarchs w 8" pseudopenis that acts as rape protector. Weinstein is def not one. https://t.co/zijRVF2xFD…
Photopost - 21 days ago
Why I love Belgium - 25 days ago
Bake Off, Wednesday night:
Nostalgia - 28 days ago
It was car-free Sunday yesterday, our eleventh in Brussels.
Natte Onderkant - one month ago
1. Fatigué de VivreFlicking through Le Soir, the Belgian paper, on the lookout for some hidden nugget of Belgiania that I can fashion into a hilarious/fascinating pitch or spurious Belgian life philosophy to repackage for coffee table consumption à la hygge/ikigai, I note the following: - 5 hideous grisly and depressing murders (yes all murder is bad but these ones were particularly dreadful)- several sinkholes- Ghastly racist ministers Theo Francken and Jan Jambon being themselves- "7 out of 10 Belgians in favour of euthanasia for people who are 'tired of life'"I am not sure Belgium is ready for its hygge moment.2. The Naming of the PekinsThe chicks have now survived 6 weeks and doubled in size and sass, so I think I can finally give them names. The one on my shoulder on the last post is slightly shyer, lighter and paler. Her friend is fearless and fat and darker and has taken to chasing away the pigeons and crows that have the effrontery to try and eat her food. Here they both are up to no good:
#blessed - one month ago
HELLOEverything is shit. I mean, it isn't, probably but it feels like that today. And yesterday. And most of last week. What? Also, in the wider world, it is clearly shit, so actually, let's stick with the initial statement.Ingratitude Journal (with apologies/thanks to Ganching who did it first)Faced with the Reichenbach Falls of translation, I am doing nothing more productive than staring at the grey sky (I'm fine with grey sky, I welcome it, that is not part of the shitness) and occasionally quietly whispering "I hate everyone" and "fuck everything".Family Life I will not go further, much as I might wish to because Family Life Omertà must be maintained except when Insta-messaging one's best friend from the lavatory in the dead of night whilst cry-laugh-crying.Just spoilered myself for Fake or Fortune - the thought of which is the only thing keeping me going many days - because of following my fantasy husband Philip Mould on Twitter (no regrets though).Quoted very punchily for a couple of jobs on my spouse's advice and as a result have no work or money (I still think he was right but I have €8 in my bank account before my (holiday) credit card bill goes through). I genuinely can't quite see how to earn a living at the moment. I can't be entirely unskilled, but my skills such as they are are not highly valued in monetary terms in 2017.Regarding the above, I have resolved to pitch more, but what this means concretely is a momentary feeling of achievement followed by hours of feeling shit, when my tentative pitch ("here is something you might possibly, conceivably, be interested in?") is met with a big fat horrified no ("why are you offering us the decomposing corpse of a subway rat, what is wrong with you, you fucking halfwit, also we covered decomposing rat corpses frequently this year, why the fuck didn't you do your research", this is how it feels to me anyway). This is ... emotionally challenging. I will persist. I have it in mind to try and be more male about work stuff.Quite fat after Yorkshire holiday of Tunnocks Teacakes, gin and crisps so have Tight Trouser Gloom/Rage.I note also, that on closer examination these trousers are covered in weird brownish green stains. Bird shit? Yorkshire gunk?It's the time of the year where everything bites me so I'm scratching like a flea-ridden dog.My scrubby old hen has decided to make it her life's mission to kill my new hens. Every time I think things have calmed down, there's a flurry of screeching and feathers and I have to run outside and make peace with mealworms and cardboard boxes.New tinyhen:
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