On the 28th of July 1988, I had an appointment with Jan De Bruyn, landlord of the "Brugs Beertje" for business purposes.

Brugge is a beautiful town, sometimes resembling a mediaeval painting.

Brugge is also a town, living on tourists. The town centre, however, is not made for "homo automobiliensis". This latter-day representant of the human race has to find himself one of those subterranean parkings, who have the same aspect here as anywhere else: a dark labyrinth, rather musty, dirty, greasy. Those in Brugge also have the inappropriate habit of closing in the early evening, it is to say: midnight sharp. At this hour, every self-respecting objective beer taster gets subjective and takes the wise decision to try a few specialities, before the bed and hidden pleasures herein, take him in.

Our cosy business talk, richly blessed with Gambrinal breaks, went on and on.

At a quarter to midnight, I tried to signal Jan De Bruyn that I had had my fill - seen the small lettering at the parking. Jan, however, waved all objections, claiming that the Almighty Gambrinus had bestowed his person with a magical key, capable of opening all dark subterranean caverns.

At half past one, having discovered that all specialities started to taste remarkably similar, I decided to go home, singing on the bus. Of course, the Bruges' Bear, armed with his magical key, came along.

Tearing off my parking ticket on the magnetic reader didn't do any good. Neither did his magical card.

Three times hooray however; at the other entrance of Minotaurus' cave, a few phone numbers were found, subject to the special RTT rate of BEF2000. We noted down those lucky numbers double-quick, and moved back to 'Start', where we drank a glass or two to reconfort ourselves after all these emotions.

Alas, victory was still far off. The first number proved to be anything but a winner, and instead Jan ended up with the Bruges' bailiffs. Tweedledee got the whole explanation, after which Tweedledum-by-night came on the phone, causing the explanation to be given a second run.

Jan hires a permanent - and tremendously expensive, to hear him - parking space, and has to be able to drive away 24 hrs. on 24 hours. So this is what he declared to the sergeant-by-night: "I'm Jan De Bruyn from 't Brugs Beertje pub. My car is in…. (followed a few throaty sounds, called Brugs. It sounds quite painful.), where I'm hiring a permanent lot. The door's obviously malfunctioning and won't open. I'm ready to give birth and have to get to maternity ASAP." The Cerberus on guard declared he wasn't the midwife and Jan should ring the "200"- that is the "100" for people starting to see the world in double. That was a prime reason to knock down a few glasses more on the end of this hair-raising story, which happens to other people in books, but to me in reality.

The next prime number managed to wake up a dormouse-cum-parking warden. This one came, saw, and victory was his - and Jan had to deliver his magical key for further inspection. When driving away, the warden asked dryly whether Mr. De Bruyn had recently changed his vehicle.

When arriving at Kemelstraat, where the plebs was pacing up and down, having gotten at the end of ones' fingernails, not to mention having drunk a few more against the overdose of thrill; so we decided this had to be fêted with some more liquid specialities to celebrate the happy-end and safe arrival.

So it came to happen that Jan De Bruyn became pregnant, and yours truly very heavy in the head. We will celebrate his motherhood on the 28th of April 1989, and will meet for a good choice of specialities at the Brugs Beertje. If you come along, one golden tip: park your car in Gent, and take a cab to Brugge.

Guy De Wit, appeared in 'Den Bierproever' N° 14, January