One thing I've become terribly good at is putting my entire life into boxes. I'll be celebrating Valentine's Day with a second negative COVID test (hopefully) and then next day I'm on the move again. Not far, just down the road. I could probably do it myself with a big enough trolley. But I have two masked and gloved chaps named Marco and Rafael doing it for me. That makes them sound exotic like teenage mutant ninja turtles. I fear they might be just men with ven.
Who knows how this next phase is going to go. I'll have more space, for sure. I can put up my pictures and paintings. I can sit in an actual kitchen to have my vast amounts of coffee. But I cannot get over the feeling of its being a prolonged glamping. Nothing feels like home. I'm not sure when last it did.
If I could tell you I have decided to settle down I would, but I have not. With the state that the UK is in, I am drawn increasingly towards my second country and may well end up back in Brussels. I know Belgium is probably just as corrupt, but at least it is still part of the EU (as am I, according to the chip in my Belgian ID card).
But for now, I'm an Ealing girl, as once I was many years ago. The resonance of remembered Ealing still holds me in a sort of embrace. It's a fairly cold embrace at the moment, with most things being shut. But I could be in a lot worse places.
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