Well, here we are. It’s finally come. My final evening in Belgium after just over 4 1/2 years.

I’m sitting on my little balcony at what has been my home in Brussels since May 2018.

I am drinking the very last dram to be had from my bottle of Laphroaig which I bought in December 2020 when I knew I wouldn’t be going home to Scotland for Christmas and Hogmanay that year. I drank a bunch of it with my downstairs neighbours when they generously invited me for dinner twice to celebrate those two occasions.

I also drank some of it with old pals at the bells (again on this same balcony) as we finally managed to connect our call over the internet (I forget which platform) with about ten seconds to go. They were in Switzerland at the time and so in the same time zone. I also drank some of it (ditto, on the balcony) listening to a James Yorkston session online as he introduced songs from his new album from a venue/record shop in Fife I think.

And just now a wee fly has given himself a good death by flying into my glass.

I say all this to celebrate the end of a good bottle, which has served me well (and slowly) over the last 18 months. And as well as the end of a good bottle, I’m obviously also celebrating my time in Brussels.

Despite knowing I would be leaving for about two months it has rather snuck up on me. I’ve been so busy at work in recent weeks and then this past week of focusing on cleaning, packing, removals, flights and tying-up loose ends at work that only now do I feel justified in taking a quiet moment to myself. So I’m doing what anyone drinking a whisky on a balcony when on the precipice of a major life change would do – asking myself what it all meant.

But what did it all mean?!

Lots of things, clearly. I’ve told the story so many times recently I’m a little sick of it, but it is absolutely true that a) I was only supposed to come to Brussels for “4 or 5 months” and b) I was relieved at that fact. Doing something like this was extremely “not me” and I just needed a bit of a push and reassurance (that I wouldn’t be away for too long) to take the plunge. So at the very least, I’ve pushed outside of my comfort zone and found that I could cope, that I would enjoy it, and that I would even do well in this environment.

I mentioned to someone today that that is absolutely the case, but the homebody in me is still absolutely there which is why I need some time back in Glasgow before I’d consider doing something like this again. I miss too much about being home – not having to buy water; no language barrier; the feeling that that is where I belong. I don’t feel at home here in Brussels, despite being very happy. I don’t know if I ever could. A big part of it is that, despite it being a lovely city, I don’t have a sense of ownership over it. Glasgow is mine. Scotland is mine. I feel a sense of responsibility to start to do something to improve them both. Here, I still feel like a visitor.

End it.

Let’s wrap this up. I will no doubt think about my time in Brussels a lot for the rest of my life, so I don’t need to try and extract all meaning from it in one very po-faced journal. But I needed to do it on my last evening here and I’m glad I did. All that remains is to get a good night’s sleep, and tomorrow give the flat a last tidy, and take my luggage to the railway station and on to the airport.

I’ll drop off the empty bottle of Laphroaig at the recycling station on the way.

Onwards x