I know you haven’t seen me there since corona and there was even more than one serious reason for that.
Now take that tattoo. First of all, I have a morbid aversion to tattoos and no medicine has yet been marketed against them, says my family doctor.
The facteur and the milkman and the beer merchant of years ago never put this into words directly, but I myself knew that my right shoulder was by far the most beautiful spot in my entire creation story. I wouldn’t want to get a tattoo there for any money. Just 1 month ago I had my 4e got a shot against corona and now go on a pilgrimage to Herzele again for several shots at the same time via [email protected] ? That was too much of a good thing!
Don’t get me wrong, I thought it was a commendable initiative: you pay and you drink and you treat, all through your shoulder with your personal festival tattoo. Once I have such a fleshy, mobile payment card on my shoulder and I go shopping at -15° for Christmas, then I have to take off my coat at the Carrefour cash register and briefly change my pullover to give my app to the cashier to present. Can’t something like that lead to transgressive behavior and even unwanted intimacies, yes even to a red hot phone at MeToo, not to be confused with Mie Katoen?
Speaking of pulls. That also kept me away from Rock Zottegem! The weather had been nice, stable, summery for several days. The days were sunny and warm but the evenings were sometimes cool. We could still bear that blanket at night and the love for our summer down had not yet turned into aversion like the recent Spanish and Portuguese nights.
You also don’t have to spend three full days in a row on such a Rock Zottegem. You also catch your breath. You speak, standing still, at your packed lunch that you have lovingly slid together at home and jumping your hard-boiled egg does the same: it jumps out of your Tupperware box, chased by a few olives and even a ham roll with asparagus in it. Nor does every performance particularly captivate you and if you put your attention on hold for only a few minutes, a pull by midnight can be pleasant company.
Together with the lunch box, a pull had to be put in that bag. And what if a boozer spilled its full cup of lager on your pull? There’s nothing more annoying than listening to Clement Peerens and his CPeX with a damp, beer-smelling pull on. A second pull would therefore best travel in that bag, towards Bevegemse Vijvers, where we were once vaccinated against corona.
“Persistently dry,” the weatherman had said verbatim. But suppose that just above Zottegem, exactly above Rock Zottegem, a short but very heavy downpour would spoil the fun? Spare shoes would therefore certainly not be an unnecessary luxury, in addition to a pair of fresh socks and there must always be room for a plastic poncho when you leave the house.
The bag, still as good as new, with Cycling Schotte on it, would gradually become too small, especially because I also wanted to take that small tent with me.
For such movements, it is always best to choose a sturdy suitcase, a Samsonite.
But suppose now, it is purely hypothetical, that I am appraised at the entrance as a “disturbing disappearance”, not maliciously that suspicion, because they are all sweet, motivated, concerned boys and girls and that a little later Alain Remue there for me stands for an enlightening conversation, a probing tête-à-tête.
Searching could only really come to a dramatic end for me if they find a knife in my Samsonite suitcase: for me an innocent attribute to celebrate a dried sausage after the performance of De Kreuners, for the police, however, a murder weapon or at least proof of less good intentions. In the latter case, I would even have a hard time choosing between Walter or Ben as a victim. Maybe Rock Zottegem would be in the news again in a few years with the Koffermoord.
I wisely let the Rock Zottegem event pass the 2022 edition. The bag of Cycling Schotte remained in the storage room with the washing pins in it. In the attic, the suitcase was allowed to dream of an earlier vacation in Aruba.
Why I wasn’t at Rock Zottegem?