Belgium? In my head I’d already arrived…

NO TALKING SHOP, NO DAILY  GRIND.   On a TGV from Paris to Lille Europe, coach 1, seat 35.  Thursday 20 March 2014. Fifty minutes past four.
  Alone in the backroom of The Hideout, a bar near the Gare du Nord, I was waiting for the Ostend train, listening to a hardcore groove. 
   Belgium? In my head I’d already arrived, imagining the walks that awaited me along the North Sea coast. All the simple things about life over there:  the town and forgotten rock music, washed down with a Jupiler in one of the bistros on Ostend’s Rue Longue. And I told myself that as I walked to the tomb of painter James Ensor, perhaps the sea breezes would waft me an idea that would one day make me the author of photos that ultimately people will like. 
  That would be a change from what I read on the Blurb website when I try to find out if anyone has ordered a copy of my book  At Home (above): ‘No sales during this period’... 
  Buddha bless you.