HAVING SPENT the previous three years getting to grips with new work, people and living independently in London, the company unexpectedly and almost accidentally sent me to Brussels twice during 1961. 

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Though unexpected, the timing of this opportunity could not have been better. Some eighteen months into my second job since coming to London, I was finding the content of my working day dull, repetitive, trivial and undemanding. Restless and frustrated, I watched the staff vacancies notice board closely each week, hoping for something more interesting to appear within the company group.

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A trip to Brussels was the thrilling answer: a different (and foreign) place, completely new work to do, new people to meet and a new language and its culture to absorb. There was nothing preventing my departure at short notice. After a quick farewell visit to my parents in Bedford, I packed my single suitcase and took my first flight.

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