Waffling

There has been much Ebay: the trousseau for my new job.  I am still quietly and resiliently bloody happy.  Moving to a new country brought so much uncertainty it was like looking out a car window and seeing only deep fog.  I do not think I could have spent much longer wrangling toddlers and holding up their ankles to scrape shit off.  It would have severely affected my life expectancy.

Downstairs is a contract, signed, that anchors me to a new future.  I do not remember being this excited ever about a job - perhaps because achieving decent employment in your own city is one thing; to do it in another country is something else.  Something else indeed.  

After six months, I'm still infatuated with my city.  The ice cream vans play tinkly off-key greetings just like the UK ones, but they also sell waffles.  I have not yet, but will avail myself of one before very long.  And today I have discovered that not five minutes from here is a two-screen cinema in a row of houses, that has served the local community for more than forty years.  I love Brussels.