Hasselt free

Sometimes a thing looks shit on the inside
And from farther away it's the ebb and the flow of the tide
Don't you know it'll all be gone when you're gone?

A workshop at the Corba office park outside Hasselt. I’m walking dead, but I make them do all the work and somehow survive. By four, they’re looking as tired as me. Job done.

I get a lift to Hasselt train station, where I hop the 5:11 to Brussels Midi. Eurostar check-in hasn’t opened yet, so I collapse in a fast food salad joint on the concourse and munch through leaves, goat’s cheese, and walnuts.

Queue. Boarding pass. Security. French border. British border. Wine. Board. Arrive. Just like flying except somehow calmer.

And then I decompress in the flat and watch the first part of a new series about the Ikea empire. It’s like a lullaby.