A few weeks ago, Michelle and Grant came down from Cambridge to spend a weekend in Brussels. Hayden was very excited to see his marraine again, and we had high hopes of trekking off to Hallebos to see the bluebells. However, the weather was not looking promising so we decided to stay closer to home. Grant acted as our photographer for the weekend and supplied all these photographs.

I kicked off our weekend with some Thermomix buttermilk blueberry pancakes topped with Michelle and Grant’s homemade blackberry jam. We caught the metro to the European Parliament district in Maelbeek valley, and while the sun was out we took a quick stroll through Parc Léopold. The Park contains such treasures as a rare Oriental plane tree, the remains of the fifteenth century Eggevoort castle, as well as the Royal Museum of Natural Science.

Forsaking the Iguanodons this time around, we head over to the Parliamentarium, the new €21 million high-tech EU visitors’ center that opened October 2011. The touch-screen audio devices are available in 23 different languages, and a triggered by placing them within close proximity to your display of interest. For a subject matter that could be quite dry, the curators have managed to bring the history of Europe alive with interactive displays that include a long corridor traversing the history of Europe, a 360 degree film on the parliament, an huge map to explore with trolleys that play short clips about various regions, and an expansive lounge room with interviews of European citizens.

After a lunch of frites and a long afternoon nap, we headed out for Lapin à la gueuz (Rabbit in cherry beer gravy) at Le Forestier, followed by a marionette performance of The Passion at Théâtre de Toone. I had assumed that since I was familliar with the plot, I would be able to follow the story, even though I don’t speak Bruxellois (a dialect mixture of Flemish and French). I was mistaken. The story was told from the perspective of Judas, who was portrayed as a drunk man wandering through the Sablon and the Grand Place, with a cameo by St Michael, the patron saint of Brussels. Hayden loved it, refusing to sleep and staring with wonder at the puppets on the screen. He probably understood more of the Dutch than we did.

We took him back home after intermission and left Grant and Michelle to enjoy the Grand Place.

On Sunday we went to the Midi Markets for a brunch of Moroccan pancakes filled with honey, cheese, and marinated vegetables. Michelle hung out with Hayden and told him a story about a certain caterpillar with a bit of an appetite.

We finished up the weekend with a trip to the Sky Cafe at the Royal Museum of the Army and of Military History. Hayden sat in his first pilot’s seat but looked a little overwhelmed at the responsibility. After a few rounds of bowling, dinner was Ethiopian, which Hayden loved because it meant that everyone was eating with his hands, just like him.

I arrived back to my desk after lunch to find this delicious looking box sitting on my desk.A colleague asked me about it, but the more I explained that I had writing paper shipped all the way from England, the more confused he looked. I stared at it hungrily all day, but I wanted to do a proper private and documented unboxing at home. So it sat there for hours, unopened, wrapped up in blue cord. I carefully hoisted it home on the metro and then on the train. I didn’t want to accidentally leave my stationery behind, like the last time I visited Smythson. Finally, I was at home, and the unboxing process began.

I had just cut the cord and I was about to open the box when I heard a knock at the door. The agent had decided to come and show some people in, completely without notice. I really should have just flat out denied them entry, but instead I let them come in and they picked their way through our messy apartment. I was very cranky at the agent for (1) breaking all the rules of privacy and prior notice and (2) for interrupting my moment. So I made pesto, mozzarella, and tomato sandwiches as I waited for them to leave, pointing out all the problems with the apartment when the viewers asked me questions. Finally, they left, and I was able to pull back the bubble wrap to reveal a cluster of blue boxes.

I carefully opened up the boxes, pealed back the layers of tissue paper, and there was my personalised writing paper, sealed with a Nile blue band. I ran my finger gently across the letterhead to feel it raised against my fingers, and I turned it over to see the slight bruising made by the copperplate die on the back. Each envelope was expertly hand lined in purple tissue paper before folding, with a blind-embossed “Smythson” mark just beneath the diamond flap. I held it up to the light to see the subtle “Glen Clova” watermark. The photos don’t really capture the fresh pale green and vibrant violet, and I have removed my surname from the images in some sort of vague attempt at privacy.

Now I can’t wait to start writing – email me your address to and I may post you a letter.

Six weeks ago, Adrian bought me a lovely African violet plant, bursting with purple flowers, to celebrate my first day at work. Now, under my supervision, it looks like this:

In an attempt to brighten up my first ever cubicle, I bought myself a plant at Central Station. It is a lush combination of four different plants, one of which may or may not be a lily. I tried explaining to the shop keeper that I need something very resilient and impossible to kill. She merely looked at me curiously and replied in French. I pointed to this plant, and she nodded. She probably said something like “yes, this plant is very sensitive and will soon die without extreme care and vigilance”. But I prefer to think that she said “this plant couldn’t be any more resilient if it had an adamantium skeleton. It is the perfect companion for someone as botanically inept as yourself”. I tried to mime out a request for watering instructions, and she wrote me out a receipt instead. So it will be interesting to watch my feeble attempts at keeping this plant thriving on my desk.

The next day I woke feeling fantastic. Minimal pain in my gums, and my swelling had dramatically decreased. A large bruise had developed on my jaw like I had been punched hard the night before, but my feelings of constant irritability seemed to also have disappeared. I felt like a different person – vibrant and alive instead of cranky and sore. Still too swollen to chew, I had an egg white omelette for breakfast before we headed out to Muir Woods National Monument.

It is a magical place. Adrian and I spent two and a half hours hiking through the treetops of coastal redwoods, watching the chickadees, and spotting a chipmunk and a squirrel. We took the ocean view trail, heeding the disclaimer that the trees are now so high, the water is no longer visible. We only met one other person on the trail, and it was so still and peaceful, among these giant living beings that are centuries old. We have had such a busy month preparing for the move, that this day of peace was exactly what we needed. We even spotted a loveliness of ladybirds, clambering together to preserve warmth in the cool air.