A collection of short stories revolving around Brussels, The Meantime is a welcome addition to the scattered literature in which Bruxelles-la-Grise plays a leading role. Which is not to say that a reader without the urge to indulge in fantasies about this city will be disappointed: the tales penned by these nine young cosmopolitan authors vary considerably in style and form and tackle a range of themes, from the trials of multinational relationships, to the tribulations of a Commission employee, to the lot of Brussels’ underclass.

The Road Gets Darker From Here is only the band’s seventh album (barring compilations, live albums and the Derek Raymond spoken-word album), but this is easily explained by the number of side projects Johnston and Edwards have been involved with over the years: Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds and Faust for the former, The Scapegoats for the latter.

Literary purists are understandably reticent about electronic publishing. On one hand, the e-book—that disembodied parcel of brute digital content displayed on a standardised reader—precludes the fetish experience of reading. Gone is the grainy texture of the page, the faint scent of the stacks. Proust would not be happy. On the other hand, technology has made books are more accessible now than ever before, particularly those in the public domain.

Calavera is a new destination for those craving Mexican food and drink. The tequileria, which opened earlier in the year in central Brussels’ Place de la Chapelle, is a fun, modern take on the classics. The bar, dining room and terrace are decorated in bright colours, with painted skulls (calavera is Spanish for just that part of the anatomy) and Mexican wrestling masks hung throughout. The main attraction here is the tequila – all 30 varieties on offer.

John Lydon’s Sex Pistols may have been the most influential ‘one-album band’ ever but, on artistic merit, they do not come anywhere near his next, freshly resurrected project, Public Image Ltd.

Boris Daenen, a 23-year-old producer from Edegem, is Belgium’s most wanted export product when it comes to dance.

I might as well confess immediately: my knowledge of Japanese cuisine is limited. Mostly to wasabi-flavoured bar snacks and, very occasionally, pre-packed westernised sushi approximations. Meanwhile, a few of my acquaintances marvel like true connoisseurs at restaurants where exorbitant prices and rude service are “telltale signs of authenticity”. Now, call me old-fashioned, but I tend to dislike being fleeced or growled at. But then along comes Takigawa, and suddenly everything is how it should be.