How funny, arriving back in Brussels has kind of instantly rekindled my faith in travelling. Delighted I didn’t have to pay a fortune to buy another Eurostar ticket, enjoying the sexy girls in the Gare du Midi, loving the beautiful Orient Express bar. Twenty past six, on my second small Jupiler, another hour to kill before I cross back over to Midi; I actually fear crossing the road again; it really scares me. Same as last time there is a gentleman standing at the fruit machine just slapping the buttons aggressively and obsessively; he looks like the owner, as he does not drink or eat; he looks a bit like Louis Van Gaal but don’t think he is. Slap-slap-slap, the bar staff must get sick of listening to it.