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.