LK: this this Sir Arthur what have you chosen as your gift this evening?
SA: I’ve chosen three French hens.
LK: Three French hens? Why is that?
SA: Well I chose three French hens because three is about the ideal number. You certainly don’t want to have more than that, and a single French hen on its own tends to be rather self-centered, a huge ego.
LK: What about two french hens?
SA: Well, they’ll be twice as self-centered.
LK: Why French hens?
SA: I chose French hens because they’re rather more sophisticated than the English hen - “la poule anglaise”, which is a rather dull creature. As Winston Churchill said, if the hen should ever leave the Tower of London it really wouldn’t matter very much.
LK: You really seem to know your hens?
SA: Oh yes I do. I spent a great deal of time with hens in the 70s working for the EHC.
LK: The European Hen Commission?
SA: That’s right yes, in Brussels. It was our task to arrive at the single European hen: a hen combining all the good features of the individual national hens. The Italian hen for example has a lot to contribute what in the Italian hen: its swagger, its bragadoccio. One wants to keep that strain of the Italian hen in the single European hen, but one can do without the exuberance, the unpleasant strutting and dare one say it? the cowardice?
LK: Cowardice?
SA: Yes if a hen is unwilling to get into the oven then how on earth are we going to eat it? The EHC is one which is self de-feathering one that comes without a great song and dance mols neatly into the nearest bowl and jumps into the microwav.
LK: With a swagger?
SA: No no no! We don’t want it swaggerng for heaven’s sake, nor do we want it entering so meekly, so despondently, that we feel sorry for it.
LK: What are your main memories of Brussels during the 1970s?
SA: There was alot of hard work involved of course. Committee meetings, committee meetings, endless committee meetings. For example, it took seven years of committee meetings before they could agree on a venue for the committee meetings. The only thing we all agreed on was that it shouldn’t be Brussels, so naturally Brussels became the compromise choice.
LK: Did you like Brussels?
SA: My attitude was very much: when in Brussels do as the Belgians do: leave as soon as possible. Brussels can be a lonely place if you’re completely on your own.
LK: Does Brussels have much night life?
SA: The night life in Brussels is very similar to the day life, but a bit darker and nothing’s open. A sort of less hectic Luton.
LK: A little dull?
SA: Yes. But uh there is another side to Brussels and if you get to know the right people you can get to see the pulsating underbelly of the seedy bars, garish strip joints, sumptuous brothels and of course the National Railway Museum.
LK: Very much Graham Greene territory?
SA: Very much yes, a twilight world of drugs, prostitution to which I was introduced by a Norwegian seed tycoon.
LK: Were you tempted by these secret delights?
SA: Not really, I’m a straightforward geranium man myself and of course a few busy lizzies scattered here and there.
LK: No, I mean the Belgian underbelly, the teeming nightlife.
SA: Well, naturally as a single man in a foreign country I was subject to the normal temptations and I’m ashamed to say that on two occasions, weakened. The chocolates are irresistible but most of all I suppose I missed female companionship.
LK: Did you find it?
SA: Yes yes I met the love of my life in Brussels. It was Tuesday evening and the committee had just broken up in disarray. The French had walked out and the Germans had walked in, which as you know is a pretty fatal combination. And I was at a loose end and uh it was after nine o’clock so there no taxis and I decided to walk home through the Swiss quarter.
LK: The Swiss quarter?
SA: Yes, not a safe place for the casual visitor after dark. I was feeling rather restless and as I was passing by the notorious Toblerone Complex, I saw a girl huddled in the doorway she seemed to be sobbing and there was something about this frail little creature that uh drew me to her.
LK: And this was to be the love of your life?
SA: She was to become that, as uh time went by. Her name was Rochelle. She’d come to Brussels in search of the bright lights. A simple farm girl from Ghent a girl who felt trapped by the sheep and the chickens and wanted to find herself and in so doing … she found me. I took her by the hand and led her wordlessly to my hotel.
LK: Love at first sight?
SA: Yes, when we got to the room I could see that she was a little over-awed by the surroundings. I expect it was the first time she’d seen furniture. So to put her at her ease I boiled up some Nesquik and started to tell her a little about myself. I brought her up to date about all the latest fracas with the Dutch and the infighting between the Spanish farmers and the Finns and I was just explaining the ramifications of the community potato policy when I saw that her cup was empty. I went to the kitchenette and prepared another Nesquik and when I returned she was … she was gone.
LK: So you never saw her again?
SA: Not as such.
LK: Thank you sir Arthur, a very moving story.
SA: Yes. Rochelle or was it Michelle? No, Rochelle, that’s the chap. Brussels, Brussels, Brussels. Well what’s past is past and what’s to come with a bit of luck won’t happen.