Name: Diplomat Céline’s last day in Brussels.
Age: One short Sunday.
Location: Les Marolles, Brussels 1000.
Sunday Céline seems like the sort of person whose oven clock is correct, who jogs on the spot at traffic lights and who closes all their tabs.
Yeah, but she’s actually a bit rogue.
How so?
She hadn’t packed all her boxes or shredded all her confidential diplomatic papers before leaving the country.
What! She let all the mysteries of Scandalgate loose in Brussels?
No. She solicited a human shredder for a homely Sunday afternoon.
Sounds really boring.
Yeah it was, so we got manicures and went shopping instead.
On a Sunday? In Belgium? One thing I’ve gleaned from visiting Belgium is that it must have some fatuous rule about shops opening on a Sunday.
Well done! One lonely street in Belgium is allowed to open on Sundays. Conveniently for us, it is lined with nail salons, antique stores and second-hand costume shops.
And if those antique stores are too sophisticated?
We head to the Marché aux Puces (flea market) at Place Jeu de Balle (Ball Game Square) also known as – you guessed it – Vossenplein (Foxes Square).
What did you buy?
All the essentials: an old Ricard jug, an inappropriately sexual Indonesian curio, a suit of armour, two test tubes, a shell, a set of silver (I think) cutlery missing all forks, 100 vintage matchboxes, a baby’s bonnet, some Flemish granny’s version of Van Gogh’s Irises, a Congolese face mask, an EP, an LP and a fridge.
Everything but the kitchen sink!
Oh no, we bought one of those too.
Surely those boxes need packing by now?
Just one more stall…
So how do you stop this splurge?
The square is, conveniently, lined with bars. After stepping on broken crockery and failing to haggle a fair price for what we were assured was a genuine Rolex, we needed some beers and fries.
Belgian comfort. Now will you finally head home to pack ‘n’ shred?
OK, Miss Confidentiality.
And the best perk of being a Sunday Shredder?
I got to inherit Céline’s fancy organic cleaning products, whereas "just popping in to say bye" Neighbour Robert got the home-brand crap.
Do say:
[to manicurist from Hong Kong] "What do you think is worse – the gold glitter nail varnish, the suit of armour I just bought or the political situation in Hong Kong?"
Don’t say:
"Now that you’ve discovered there’s something to do on a Brussels Sunday, you’ll never want to leave, Céline!"
The Belgian Waffle is a satirical column.
One person's junk is another's treasure; this has never been more true than in the Marolles. Credit: Orlando Whitehead
