Welcome back to Belgium, the banner could have said. You like it here, remember? It's home.
Besides, it's very pretty with all the snow, and you can warm up with a waffle. And there are languages. Lots of them. And chocolate. Rivers of chocolate flowing down the streets.
Also, a place of glorious inefficiency. Political views aside (I won't reveal mine on this issue lest I lose whatever readers I may have painstakingly gained over the last few insight-filled months), it worries me slightly that this is where the powers that be chose to put Europe, HQ. Here, where for much of the time they can't even agree on their own government.
Here, where you have to ring ahead to an undisclosed number if you want to use a trolley when you get off the Eurostar with your five thousand suitcases full of Christmas presents and sales bargains, for the simple reason that, and I quote, "ce n'est pas Londres ici, Madame." Sigh.
Welcome home, all you expats. Take a deep breath. Getting cross does not help, and I'd know. Think chocolate. Think gateway to Europe. And don't go overdoing the Borders closing sale next year.