I moved into a lovely bright flat on the second floor of an old maison de maître filled with my own things. It was delightful. I loved that flat. It had a balcony big enough to accommodate a table and six chairs and several pot plants in various stages of decay.
I met the man who would become Mr. Waffle.
In fact, everything was perfect, except for my job which was rather tedious.
I was relatively rich but even so, I was very struck by how cheap Brussels was compared to Dublin. The last time I had lived there, it had seemed terribly expensive compared to Ireland. The early stirrings of the celtic tiger, I suppose.
I was lured back to Ireland by a promotion and kissed goodbye to Brussels for what I thought was the last time (insert hollow laugh here).