Ta-Dah! November!

And just like that two months flash by.

Work has taken over with its trips and events: the kind of 'travelling' where you don't see a country, just the hotels and meeting rooms it has to offer. Weekends offer more of the substantial travelling with friends and family spread across Europe, but they go so fast they almost don't exist. I snap away, trying to capture the experience in a package of data that will then sit in my laptop, slowing it down with bulky memories.

We snatch the odd newlywed moment; he turns his wedding ring round and round as we talk; I sneak into the spare room and twirl in my veil while he watches on, giggling at his giddy wife.

This weekend we kicked our way though fallen autumn leaves, the park's fiery trees beaming brighter than the weak sun filtering through the clouds. We returned from the market laden with mangoes, kiwis and figs; cooked hearty Polish bean soup and made plans for the future. Our future to shape as we please. Our future to discover together.

That's the kind of travelling I like - the exploration of possibilities; discovering more than just another three star bedroom with BBC World and dodgy wifi.

Come back August; all is forgiven

The switch from August to September was brutal in Brussels.

One day I was sauntering along, bare legs and yearnings for icecream, a summer breeze relieving the sun's glare; the next day a gale was whipping round my hunched shoulders and I wrapped my arms around my chest, hugged my bag to me and tried to ignore the drizzle making its steady way down the back of my neck.

On Monday the 31st the roads were clear, children were playing in the park and it felt wrong turning the key in my office door. On Tuesday the 1st though, there were crowds at the school gates of crying children clinging to their parents, who tried to disentangle themselves, brush down their suits and walk away. Cars were beeping, screeching around corners to be first to the office, back to work. It felt sadly inevitable when I turned that key, shook my umbrella and knuckled down to a full day in the office.

ślub

It's not that I don't want to; I can't. I won't find the words that do it justice. I couldn't possibly describe the flood of emotions at seeing so many of the important people in my life turning round towards me, looking, smiling as I entered the church. I wouldn't know how to put down in words the church service's touches, the bursting flowers arranged by Marek's Uncle Marek, the pews heaving with smart suits and grinning hats. I couldn't adequately represent those moments in another way: the vows we'd forgotten to practice coming out smoother than expected, the wonderous music surrounding us throughout, the tears and laughs around us as we left the church, down the steps and into the throng of well-wishers. I just wouldn't be able to recreate those magical moments. So I won't.

five sixes

Marek's 30th was an afternoon off work, floury handprints and broken eggshells on the counter. A busy preparation for a special cake, brightly coloured sugar hearts and big cheery candles.

Marek's 30th was opening the door to a beaming boy, er man, amazed by the pile of pretty packages, thrilled once the paper had been ripped off and contents spilled onto the table. Warm smiles and tight hugs.

Marek's 30th was the short walk to the market, hand in hand, wedding bands clinking. An armful of sunflowers for the vase that had stood empty since it was taken off the wedding table. Oh, the wedding tables.

The wedding was an indescribable rush of emotion that both disappeared in a moment and left behind a long stretch of happy memories and warm feelings: Amazement that so many made the long trip; gratitude for the sweet wishes and generous compliments; bursting love for my new husband and extended group of family and friends.

But then, two weeks later, Marek's 30th was the fizz of leftover wedding champagne and newly baked carrot cake. The carrot cupcakes at the wedding disappeared long before we got to them, but we had the whole birthday cake to ourselves.

Marek's 30th was a restaurant meal, grinning photos taken by a friendly pair at the neighbouring table. A couple married for 50 years. The wife who clapped her hands with delight and wiped tears from her eyes as we told her how long we'd been married and wished us success and happiness and love.

Marek's 30th was a rained off film showing in the park. A grateful turn of the key, tumbling into the flat, sinking into the sofa for a quiet night in. Happy 30th, happy life.

Les Belges

This is just excellent.

It immediately conjures up images of serious looking joggers, heading for the little tents that are dotted around the park, and then emerging with numbers pinned to their t-shirts and a cornet of frites in one hand. Genius.