We are nearly unpacked: all our pictures are hung, all my books are on the shelves, my treadmill is up. (Not on, mind you, but up at least…)
Before you start thinking I have morphed into someone who actually likes homemaking, none of this could have been accomplished without Humphrey.
Humphrey’s not his real name, mind. Remember the energetic Algerian guy who helped move our stuff last week? Well, we don’t know his name — he’s quite shy — and I don’t want to bestow a presumptuous culture-specific tag on him. So we will call him the colour-blind name of Humphrey.
Well, Humphrey has been extraordinarily kind. On Day Two, as the sun sank behind Mansard roofs all over Brussels, The Engineer and I had a corresponding sinking of the heart. We sat surrounded by 250 boxes, three Billy bookcases, a piecemeal treadmill and a fractious five-year-old demanding hot dogs and Sesame Street. The Engineer has been creaky of late — we think it is a combination of hereditary arthritis and the foot-fracture sustained last year. There is no way we could have settled in in under three months…
Humphrey offered to help us get settled in for the laughable sum of €10 an hour. One day, I will write him an ode. Or cut him a deal in which we sell Humphrey clones on eBay. Draft marketing material would run along these lines:
- Provides DIY services without whining that the football is on.
- Puts up pictures and pink unicorn decals without criticising your fashion sense.
- Smokes outside.
- Eats salad with alacrity and knows where all the best organic markets are.
- Speaks only when spoken to
When we try to thank him, he says, “At least now you will have a happy memory of moving to our country.”
God sends angels.
I am so grateful for Angel Humprey! Keep writing..does not seem as if we are so far apart when I can read daily what your days are like..