tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3597600606583150302024-02-19T14:10:23.222+01:00Letters from the NetherlandsTracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-57398721971330716292013-09-12T19:37:00.001+02:002013-09-12T19:37:58.017+02:00I've moved.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Please come and check out my new blog at: <a href="http://wearenotgettinganyyounger.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">we're not getting any younger</a> where Mr Sunshine will be joining me for a regular weekly rant</div>
Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-70672744114608056432013-07-04T17:13:00.000+02:002013-07-04T17:13:14.224+02:00On the other hand<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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On one hand,I’m waking up each morning this week with a countdown in my
head. Twelve, eleven, ten days until Mr Sunshine breaks up for the summer
holidays. I hate wishing my life away like this, but I can’t seem to stop – it’s
just too damn exciting.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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On the other hand: just as I’m wishing my life away with one
hand, the other is desperately trying to freeze it. I want to savour this week,
I wish I’d made more of last week, I’m still trying to keep fresh all the
wonderful big and little events that have made the last few months so jaw-droppingly
special. <o:p></o:p></div>
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On one hand, I’m really happy with Alfie’s reaction to our new
garden. I’m not exaggerating when I say our daft little mutt tries to cuddle
the grass (the first lawn he’s known), he lolls around on his back, flips over
and spreads his legs as wide as he can and buries his nose deep in the mown
green shoots. <o:p></o:p></div>
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On the other hand: Alfie’s love of the new lawn has resulted
in this:</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwApR_oLqkKSV3f4UI1S6IRMqQ51jtleWFJiQSGp9c6tbkusMJ3NTBTYhc5SDFckWo5ZNbIVgeSLkv0akAR_h-_6h7e4vPML3zu666IybmDlr-tUVWhw2PEgQZxJ0OneMYNgBlI6Baxk/s1600/2013-07-01+16.14.58.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwApR_oLqkKSV3f4UI1S6IRMqQ51jtleWFJiQSGp9c6tbkusMJ3NTBTYhc5SDFckWo5ZNbIVgeSLkv0akAR_h-_6h7e4vPML3zu666IybmDlr-tUVWhw2PEgQZxJ0OneMYNgBlI6Baxk/s400/2013-07-01+16.14.58.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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On one hand I've recently had the nicest confirmation that I’m
doing ok at something I love, and I’ve realised that it’s only now as I approach
the big five O I have the experience necessary to make a childish dream a
distant possibility. <o:p></o:p></div>
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On the other hand: this morning I noticed that that very
experience necessary to make dreams come true resulted in wrinkles on my nose, <i>on my nose</i>.
I don’t mind the nose wrinkles so much, what I do mind was finding out Jack, a
dear friend, has just bought a vintage car, and it’s younger than me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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On one hand, just as I think I’m about to settle down to a life of middle-aged
tedium a new friend asks if I could help source her a sperm donor.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYmKGmcxclFVj4X9RqabybZ8iAN7q9byscDXLMoiBCg5U-Zfr0a6546Rl61Q7BJonENt5ZzAFHF2e6odOHUorhCyGzth4RT5-6fP7prKop6i61MlAwREFzDUUUyF2T4vbDWht8-6eGHfg/s320/sperm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYmKGmcxclFVj4X9RqabybZ8iAN7q9byscDXLMoiBCg5U-Zfr0a6546Rl61Q7BJonENt5ZzAFHF2e6odOHUorhCyGzth4RT5-6fP7prKop6i61MlAwREFzDUUUyF2T4vbDWht8-6eGHfg/s320/sperm.jpg" /></a></div>
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On the other hand: Any offers?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-18072644625747405472013-06-08T12:20:00.001+02:002013-06-08T12:20:30.167+02:00Letters from the Netherlands: The First Dance<a href="http://private-letters-to-my-bestfriend.blogspot.com/2013/06/four-days-ago-my-son-walked-up-aisle.html?spref=bl">Letters from the Netherlands: The First Dance</a>: Four days ago my son walked up the aisle with his bride. I was not prepared. That’s it – I was not prepared. I expected a few tears, a...Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-35328601217764750192013-06-05T08:32:00.000+02:002013-06-05T08:33:28.992+02:00The First Dance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Four days ago my son walked up the aisle with his bride. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was not prepared. That’s it – I was not prepared. I expected
a few tears, after all what’s a wedding without tears. I anticipated a smudging
of pride. I foresaw a hangover.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEx90Qqbs012hDaB9NuV75WgCXO-2WJEZnYVSaFYm2pKiQUEpcDHYHo9VK2gHzZvskIA2PtdygbodDh7j5Zjsc0ZltJZLUHcdhEP68JXXp8h54CEeFRobfrLY1hfad0DORdmc1BOPQo0s/s1600/DSCN0101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEx90Qqbs012hDaB9NuV75WgCXO-2WJEZnYVSaFYm2pKiQUEpcDHYHo9VK2gHzZvskIA2PtdygbodDh7j5Zjsc0ZltJZLUHcdhEP68JXXp8h54CEeFRobfrLY1hfad0DORdmc1BOPQo0s/s320/DSCN0101.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Richard and Raian</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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What I didn’t predict and what nobody warned me of was the
memories. They didn’t flood in to my sleep deprived brain as I watched him
speak his vows or even as he stood before the room crowded with floral guests
and hushed children to deliver his perfect - unrehearsed – speech.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The memories came later that day, much later. The rest of
the guests might have slept with images of the chocolate box wedding tattooed
on their eyelids, I had other images.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I will</td></tr>
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Images of smiles just for me, a baby walking far too early,
a toddler sleeping with his arms wrapped around his baby brother. A boy who
kept his fall into the embers of a fire secret, so I could have just ‘one’ day
free of worry.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I remembered his smile as I distracted him with silly
stories when the nurse injected cloudy anesthesia in the back of his pudgy
four year old hand. I remembered praying as he vanished into the death sleep. Sleeping,
night after night, by his hospital bed, and using my fist to silence my own screams
the first night I brought him home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I remembered other, un-shareable, nights I lay awake, hands clenched, praying he’d be safe.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I remembered his grandfather’s (my father) smile as he said:
‘Richard just gave me the proudest moment of my life.’<o:p></o:p></div>
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But most of all I kept remembering his smile as he danced
the first dance with his new bride.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Each time I freeze frame Richard’s first dance and see his
face as he sings the words to Raian. I see a smile that belongs only to her, a
smile filled with so much love, so much promise and honesty that it physically hurts.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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For a moment on the dance floor I think it was just them, they
forgot about the hundreds of people watching, cameras flashing and videos whirling.
They didn’t see people sharing smiles, couples reaching for each other, or dozens
of guests placing their drinks down and hurriedly grab tissues. They didn’t see
me letting go of my first baby – my first baby.<o:p></o:p><br />
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First dance</div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/h8I2yMEpaRM" width="560"></iframe><br />
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Richard's smile at 1.10 seconds. That's it.<br />
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Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-71197362714416613532013-05-25T11:16:00.000+02:002013-05-26T08:46:53.249+02:00Police knocking at my door<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58qh0PQzp7N8vLCfN6hen0rV9QQ6eLvS6H7M_J5g1I4qZfx8sCKu6Iftk99G14v37G81aXCE1n1h6gtnCt87jkl12gfxBma7wQOvlF2uUz2R80TA9Mot4eiH2Cv0PERPH9wavj2dkQ5I/s1600/file000353140187.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58qh0PQzp7N8vLCfN6hen0rV9QQ6eLvS6H7M_J5g1I4qZfx8sCKu6Iftk99G14v37G81aXCE1n1h6gtnCt87jkl12gfxBma7wQOvlF2uUz2R80TA9Mot4eiH2Cv0PERPH9wavj2dkQ5I/s320/file000353140187.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Less than 24 hours ago the aptly named KLM Hopper fell out
of the sky onto the runway at LeedsBradford airport and I began the countdown
to my son’s wedding 7 days 4 hours 45 minutes as from now.</div>
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This morning I sat on the bed in Richard’s (my son) room. He
kept his eyes averted from the game developer mod of Minecraft images on his
oversized screen. And we talked. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I talked him about his granddad and his family in Ireland. He
flicked the Minecraft image to Facebook and searched for pictures of his second
cousins. He told me about the wedding plans, all the organising he'd done, the
bills they had yet to pay – the florist, the caterers, the church. And I
remembered.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I remembered the baby who was in such a rush to enter the
world he arrived three weeks early and 10 minutes after his immature 20 year
old mother climbed on to the delivery bed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I remembered three year old Richard scaling the six foot
wooden fence at the end of our garden to reach the neighbour’s paddling pool.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The policemen knocking on the door – to caution ‘his brother’
for vandalising a car, and eleven year old Richard stepping forward to admit it
was him. (It wasn’t vandalised, he fell off his push bike on to the bonnet).<o:p></o:p></div>
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The teacher at his school phoning to say: he’d been hit by a
cricket ball, tennis racket, rugby ball and his front teeth had been knocked
out - again!<o:p></o:p></div>
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His teacher pulling me to one side in the car park her eyes
shining. A little girl had climbed the Cedar tree
in the school grounds and froze at the top. There wasn’t time to call the fire brigade,
and the sports teacher didn’t think he had the balance to bring her down safely.
Twelve year old Richard was pulled from his history class. A circle of anxious
adults waited at the base of the tree while he scrambled to the top, convinced
the little girl to wrap herself around him baby monkey style and swung them
both back down.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Watching him plough down the field with a rugby ball, the thunder
crack of his skull as it collided with the opposing team’s number eight, the
set of his teeth as he kept moving. The astonished gasps from the crowd as he
waded through the mud dragging a human chain towards the goal post to score the
winning try.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The policemen knocking at the door a year later asking, ‘to
speak to Richards parents’. I can still feel the booming of my heart and my
bloodless cheeks. What had he done? Was he hurt? Was he ….? <o:p></o:p></div>
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My beautiful, brave, thirteen year old son had stepped into
a circle of bullies throwing stones. Inside the circle was a young boy whose
brother had been drowned in a canal two months earlier. The family, perhaps
understandably, were not functioning well and were on the receiving end of some
rather malicious gossip (the early 90’s was a cruel place). Richard tucked the
boy’s bike under one arm and the boy under the other and faced down the bullies.
Anyone who has ever seen my son in a rage will understand why the bullies ran.
The policemen knocking on my door came to give him a commendation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As I watch him walk down the aisle in seven days. It won’t
be the tall young man I see dressed in a morning suit, but the toddler who knew
no fear, the accident prone school child the teachers called on in an emergency,
and the young man who when he recognised injustice and wasn’t afraid to be the
one who stepped into the circle.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRgKOPt531AVgkQwrVYsusrRSqEf_bpJUygUbvbcbyvbdFSHhNR0ull3bNeuN6PwzJamaj-vyQKUlTU3qOcpZ9_rerLn9pBTnc-aBVbCQUB44sKrmsQv7bZdOab4NiGQ8IoJlz4jRV4Kg/s1600/goodboy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRgKOPt531AVgkQwrVYsusrRSqEf_bpJUygUbvbcbyvbdFSHhNR0ull3bNeuN6PwzJamaj-vyQKUlTU3qOcpZ9_rerLn9pBTnc-aBVbCQUB44sKrmsQv7bZdOab4NiGQ8IoJlz4jRV4Kg/s320/goodboy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I’ll watch Richard and Raian promise to support each other though
‘better and worse’ and I know he’ll have both. But I also know that with courage
and bravery, the hallmarks of his life, he’ll be ok.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-73665425610208933112013-05-17T08:13:00.001+02:002013-05-17T08:13:42.589+02:00Letters from the Netherlands: Big knickers and Ex’s<a href="http://private-letters-to-my-bestfriend.blogspot.com/2013/05/big-knickers-and-exs.html?spref=bl">Letters from the Netherlands: Big knickers and Ex’s</a>: Being an expat means having a lot of ex’s in your life. I’m an ex-boss, an ex-therapist, an ex-Pilates teacher, an ex-runner (might be ...Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-7184458239606967022013-05-15T16:39:00.000+02:002013-05-15T16:57:42.482+02:00Big knickers and Ex’s<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZYduBRm6RF3UF3ihV4GcctJThFSLC1MlYuszVaGXDPKbqLEu33BAvV5CCe86lTAlES_6I0Xz10aQfQGCf1vv48OSDf4grFXsv2H3LVb45btsOsjOwcWlQhg3cBmQSnY6mHvllnClZ0E/s1600/xs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZYduBRm6RF3UF3ihV4GcctJThFSLC1MlYuszVaGXDPKbqLEu33BAvV5CCe86lTAlES_6I0Xz10aQfQGCf1vv48OSDf4grFXsv2H3LVb45btsOsjOwcWlQhg3cBmQSnY6mHvllnClZ0E/s200/xs.jpg" width="175" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZYduBRm6RF3UF3ihV4GcctJThFSLC1MlYuszVaGXDPKbqLEu33BAvV5CCe86lTAlES_6I0Xz10aQfQGCf1vv48OSDf4grFXsv2H3LVb45btsOsjOwcWlQhg3cBmQSnY6mHvllnClZ0E/s1600/xs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZYduBRm6RF3UF3ihV4GcctJThFSLC1MlYuszVaGXDPKbqLEu33BAvV5CCe86lTAlES_6I0Xz10aQfQGCf1vv48OSDf4grFXsv2H3LVb45btsOsjOwcWlQhg3cBmQSnY6mHvllnClZ0E/s200/xs.jpg" width="175" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Being an expat means having a lot of ex’s in your life. I’m an ex-boss, an ex-therapist, an ex-Pilates teacher, an ex-runner
(might be pushing it a bit), an ex-walker of the Derbyshire Peak District. All these
ex’s I accept as part of the life changing adventure that happens to an
expatriate. What I didn’t expect, and what I’m struggling to deal with as part
of my life changing adventure is the big knickers.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Big knickers, as every woman knows, are the domain of the
elderly, and the uncool. Recently, I’ve discovered they are, also, the domain
of the desperate – that’s me!<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5jf20wRqHom9FOdx8qCC14b4kR2yYnWlTFDTy_R1yLQPiEgPMeNohyAtJgVeU5uLHCWNCG3rJLaGwAyzEIWfWESawWsdEpnNeys4MZjJs-MRkQsPtcSviUpGo12L7gDqxUCudU5V3rGY/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5jf20wRqHom9FOdx8qCC14b4kR2yYnWlTFDTy_R1yLQPiEgPMeNohyAtJgVeU5uLHCWNCG3rJLaGwAyzEIWfWESawWsdEpnNeys4MZjJs-MRkQsPtcSviUpGo12L7gDqxUCudU5V3rGY/s320/020.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glamour wear</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
In exactly 19 days my handsome, talented, creative son will
marry the love of his life.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This event is not news to me. I’ve already had advanced knowledge that I might just be included in photographs that could be
around for eternity. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With this advanced knowledge in mind, while, feasting on bittenballen, I drew up a plan. Mr Sunshine
and I bought a cross-trainer, half an hour a day should see me right I thought,
before turning to the latest free Kindle book. I filled the house with lettuce and bananas,
Mr Sunshine stocked up on wine and family sized Tiramisu. I can easy do it in
six months I thought after Christmas, I’ll start tomorrow!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9y-3OnVRxWVvG8lgijyvbHUKTVTnE0xZOFs74L47cNTHzzRlKtXQRZPi72JJyC5dPNoF0ZADRKLrm3AL8HbEC9OzqK4Q-nNQHtJIPZBZBrL16mbNnI-c1ghsjc9cAZZ32XAxE6F_baY/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9y-3OnVRxWVvG8lgijyvbHUKTVTnE0xZOFs74L47cNTHzzRlKtXQRZPi72JJyC5dPNoF0ZADRKLrm3AL8HbEC9OzqK4Q-nNQHtJIPZBZBrL16mbNnI-c1ghsjc9cAZZ32XAxE6F_baY/s320/003.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr Sunshine dismantling the unused cross-trainer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A funny thing about tomorrow - it never arrives.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I needed another plan. My usual (and preferred attire) is
jeans and T shirts, if forced I’ll squeeze into something black. Neither of
these looks I assumed would work as a wedding outfit for the mother of the
groom. So, gathering my remaining shreds of dignity, I set sail for the shops;
wisely leaving my glasses at home. Unfortunately none of the shops in Breda
stock weight or age shaving garments.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With my head hanging I turned towards the underwear
department in V & D. Disappointingly, the shop assistants looked not in the least bit shocked
as I harvested an array of skin coloured XL underwear from the section
deludingly called Glamour wear. I bought the biggest! It’s uncomfortable, will
double as thermals in the Dutch winter, for some reason best not thought about
it’s crotch-less, but it works.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9XkCIi0IDIrANPvIUljbFUrPt5RH8W4xXZ72EQIgyDg3RiAzqsLrdBXS5JcD3jn3v1reLfLZlRSVG_yHv5KIKvBR1mzR0NyrfktWMv8p4fmEP7sTvX4bjedzmSglszrWxwbka5l4uY_k/s1600/big+knickers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9XkCIi0IDIrANPvIUljbFUrPt5RH8W4xXZ72EQIgyDg3RiAzqsLrdBXS5JcD3jn3v1reLfLZlRSVG_yHv5KIKvBR1mzR0NyrfktWMv8p4fmEP7sTvX4bjedzmSglszrWxwbka5l4uY_k/s320/big+knickers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An array of skin coloured xl underwear</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My plan was coming together.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All that was needed was the highest pair of shoes I could conceivably stand up in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbVzgwvegc6WUu2OYKNZEeHy7u1bpgic59-nxU_b46cN4Fw8qHE8biNgAoyfs7aYASxiWF2zl4i0vfu0ijO0Hj8EaQJZ2Izvp-xLx-MrUB3JQiqR0Jhzc0Lp_zhXkdAGySnF0XYzPgOhM/s1600/023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbVzgwvegc6WUu2OYKNZEeHy7u1bpgic59-nxU_b46cN4Fw8qHE8biNgAoyfs7aYASxiWF2zl4i0vfu0ijO0Hj8EaQJZ2Izvp-xLx-MrUB3JQiqR0Jhzc0Lp_zhXkdAGySnF0XYzPgOhM/s320/023.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can't believe I'm swapping my trainers with bespoke dropped arch support for these!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As I wobble down the aisle in 19 days on my 5 inch heels, clutching
the arm of Mr Sunshine, and take my place on the front pew, I’ll pass by all my
ex’s. My ex mother-in-law, ex brother-in-law, my ex. Who should all be so
surprised by how much I’ve grown, they won’t notice how many bittenballen I’ve
eaten.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-14244664176568492132013-05-12T14:55:00.001+02:002013-05-12T14:55:38.248+02:00Letters from the Netherlands: Exit<a href="http://private-letters-to-my-bestfriend.blogspot.com/2013/05/exit.html?spref=bl">Letters from the Netherlands: Exit</a>: Lovely Breda When we first arrived in the Netherlands we raved about the location of our new home. Breda is an extraordinarily pretty...Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-33821706161379137792013-05-08T15:21:00.000+02:002013-05-08T15:21:29.574+02:00Exit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ELNsbfOIAUrcNh-3V0WMYcSWmsyL9XQM9Mcqw1LbOA9_bzbPZA0Ii1259snAIDzC_Quslc7flUCfVuCdxAL_4WiPQvtiYnpBHnngEbcOvKsInpZsD6qm57nFmRVMYlTBjfD0tAFe4vI/s1600/033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ELNsbfOIAUrcNh-3V0WMYcSWmsyL9XQM9Mcqw1LbOA9_bzbPZA0Ii1259snAIDzC_Quslc7flUCfVuCdxAL_4WiPQvtiYnpBHnngEbcOvKsInpZsD6qm57nFmRVMYlTBjfD0tAFe4vI/s320/033.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lovely Breda</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we first arrived in the Netherlands we raved about the
location of our new home. Breda is an extraordinarily pretty city, the people
here are friendly and gracious (with the, possible, exception of a lady at the city
hall and one rather unfortunate haemorrhoid suffering vet). We are on the doorstep
of so many magnificent cities; we can drive to France, Italy, or Switzerland in
a few hours. We can fly back to the UK in sixty minutes, or visit
practically any destination that takes our fancy from Schiphol International, Europe’s
largest airport.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjItRmm97N5zbMUQnpDrL7wjQLeBwc50QxMQRHYUc7G5J-HdNoKjiQVYbXWcFzY1aoFZtSP0pesxQoyz3g1ow1SexQy28ZpsT8SbUrCDtewGByX6YTr6UEUN4VNvhCNEA7ArhNmJA7D0Go/s1600/file000858841961.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjItRmm97N5zbMUQnpDrL7wjQLeBwc50QxMQRHYUc7G5J-HdNoKjiQVYbXWcFzY1aoFZtSP0pesxQoyz3g1ow1SexQy28ZpsT8SbUrCDtewGByX6YTr6UEUN4VNvhCNEA7ArhNmJA7D0Go/s320/file000858841961.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paris or Venice or Frankfurt!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
So, why the day after Mr Sunshine submits his Masters
did we choose not to visit any of these dream destinations, but to drive to
Frankfurt? <o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mr Sunshine, needed to see a friend and Frankfurt, it seems, is about equal distance from that friend’s home and ours. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
So, dizzy with the thought of an
adventure, we booked Alfie in for 24 hours at the doggy respite centre, hire a
car from Budget Rentals (anything above 35mph in our own dear vehicle turns the
passengers into juddering earplug wearing marionettes) and packed our best,
rather tight, going out clothes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
The odd facial tick and involuntary
arm jerk warned me that Mr Sunshine was still coming down from his Masters high,
and in no fit state to take the first shift at the wheel. So, in an attempt to
earn some brownie points I offered to drive. For those of you that have
never driven a right hand drive car be warned it is not as easy as it looks. Patting
your head with one hand and rubbing your tummy in a circle with the other, is a
reasonably close description of the sensation. According to Mr Sunshine I was
in constant danger of hitting the curb. I noticed my eyes spent dangerously long scanning
for the mirror. These were minor inconveniences compared to my door swinging open every time I tried to change gear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
After some rhetorical discussion I
convinced Mr Sunshine to let go of the dashboard and I continued with the drive.
The long motorway/autobahn drive to Frankfurt was unremarkable, apart from one
fact: it circles the longest city in Germany. From the moment we entered the Deutschland
autobahn I started seeing the signs for this long city. Mr Sunshine even looked
up once or twice from his ‘Zombies R Us’ magazine to comment irritably its ridiculous size.<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaw9foN4kVRGR8cBWeyr45b-KH809iWVWplZvUwuORx6LKJ8bOGDfLcYgPTGhNi0l57D_AV1YvIxOMwkmGTJ0IO4V3zsRcscZIiE4BmbXPkVuhsaF1f62xkFzY3D_PHeUz8-lyIa5UVOI/s1600/083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaw9foN4kVRGR8cBWeyr45b-KH809iWVWplZvUwuORx6LKJ8bOGDfLcYgPTGhNi0l57D_AV1YvIxOMwkmGTJ0IO4V3zsRcscZIiE4BmbXPkVuhsaF1f62xkFzY3D_PHeUz8-lyIa5UVOI/s320/083.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Every junction had a sign for this city</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
Six hours later the Satnav led us
into an abandoned subterranean car park, where we parked, rather foolishly,
next to a 1970’s orange and black Mustang and walked out into Harlem. We
partook of several more rhetorical discussions while trying to locate the Best Western
Hotel.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
‘Let’s ask somebody where the
hotel is.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
‘No.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
‘Let’s look up here’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
‘No.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
‘Can we go home?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
‘No.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
After walking gingerly over the
dried vomit littered streets we finally found the hotel under a busy flyover. Trying not to be downhearted we consoled ourselves we the thought that wine and the good company of friends would soften out our first impressions of Frankfurt. And I expect
it would have, if the receptionist hadn’t informed us that, not only, had our
friends not arrived but they weren’t even booked in. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixSnBWqBC8xlYsJRliaGICbRTb1xkMDeAGiq36HYxJ39X_UUN34WybsTvSc2PPaiQbFELVA0glIqV5P2lvBCzWdX5LA4Z7rjH92vs8whZSc3YGsDM3alQ8aH2a_q5IPXQpl6tDuzQBNN0/s1600/031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixSnBWqBC8xlYsJRliaGICbRTb1xkMDeAGiq36HYxJ39X_UUN34WybsTvSc2PPaiQbFELVA0glIqV5P2lvBCzWdX5LA4Z7rjH92vs8whZSc3YGsDM3alQ8aH2a_q5IPXQpl6tDuzQBNN0/s320/031.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best Western Frankfurt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
Mr Sunshine stormed off to
our room muttering 'typical', and I felt that familiar guilty question lurking:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
Is it my fault?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
Several hours later we discover
those friends were, actually, booked in the same hotel, just not in the same
city. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
At which point I thought longingly
of that extraordinarily pretty city I’d been so keen to escape and wished to see another one of those
signs for Ausfahrt.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi512Rugd5uTMZLeDyDBxGHn-vmXXOKtt3x2UVFmpBIpHz6dPeJZ842USO_Ws11lJFnczb5oxCeQHDi6G-Xkgx0ViPUIRph_FVJw2URjYIg9uCv9hJc0TvO7GckJDuDOm_RZcJK_QYql-I/s1600/file0001083988342+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi512Rugd5uTMZLeDyDBxGHn-vmXXOKtt3x2UVFmpBIpHz6dPeJZ842USO_Ws11lJFnczb5oxCeQHDi6G-Xkgx0ViPUIRph_FVJw2URjYIg9uCv9hJc0TvO7GckJDuDOm_RZcJK_QYql-I/s320/file0001083988342+(1).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Translation for Ausfahrt</span><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;">.</span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-35928733938532847672013-04-29T14:01:00.001+02:002013-04-29T14:01:10.142+02:00Letters from the Netherlands: Marking my territory<a href="http://private-letters-to-my-bestfriend.blogspot.com/2013/04/marking-my-territory.html?spref=bl">Letters from the Netherlands: Marking my territory</a>: I don’t blog for ages and now, all of a sudden, I don’t want to stop. I’m like the bus that doesn’t appear while you’re waiting at the bu...Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-44516770444208162922013-04-29T13:58:00.000+02:002013-04-29T13:58:35.762+02:00Marking my territory<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t blog for ages and now, all of a sudden, I don’t want
to stop. I’m like the bus that doesn’t appear while you’re waiting at the bus
stop, then as soon as you decide to go home, three appear one after the other.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBpWCa3C4thc3CzhDjcy1J3WP2uIoqykpqxRIOqVQFZcixj9H_bLuoFb3WLurNBorENdXsom4HGVUYeLERac1puTHDop0YIoP9_cLGo2qEWrNTkWHA204U1oaDXC6r9tgAI_CDdluozbI/s1600/file0001995495035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBpWCa3C4thc3CzhDjcy1J3WP2uIoqykpqxRIOqVQFZcixj9H_bLuoFb3WLurNBorENdXsom4HGVUYeLERac1puTHDop0YIoP9_cLGo2qEWrNTkWHA204U1oaDXC6r9tgAI_CDdluozbI/s320/file0001995495035.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One, two, three, four, five buses </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The only difference is a bus takes you somewhere, whereas
my blogs just leave you confused and wondering what the hell did I just read
that for?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today, while Mr Sunshine was locked away in his Masters
tower I took Aflie to the forest. Nothing usual in that, you may think, and you’d
be right. But, while I was on the way to the forest I was thinking (a dangerous
occupation of late). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have this misapprehension that Aflie is quite possibly
the best dog that ever lived. He certainly is the cutest, I’m not deluded about
that and towards Mr Sunshine and I he is most definitely the most affectionate.
He, also, performs magic (badly), keeps our feet warm while watching <i>Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares</i>, and stands guard
all night protecting us as we sleep (sort of). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnHUx6FlRVEDqLHTBbYqLRfsgqSbIJvs4d0-yKYVWPHyvNK1WySaW8G_Q1Rkapp-tOiTw6z43p2d4D11tFkzrnJwsKDxBEe_F7JdSXh264J_7oEZscXsUygUZtLjSp7K6keqK6TWZtmk/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnHUx6FlRVEDqLHTBbYqLRfsgqSbIJvs4d0-yKYVWPHyvNK1WySaW8G_Q1Rkapp-tOiTw6z43p2d4D11tFkzrnJwsKDxBEe_F7JdSXh264J_7oEZscXsUygUZtLjSp7K6keqK6TWZtmk/s320/019.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look into my eyes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So why does this perfect dog, insist on dragging me towards
every object that stands at right angles to the ground between here and the
forest?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-nMhQfFvzgS4LTv3Eez89uDqnjy6RducpscvG-gqqTI2n7tCPTEz6jBsIvRNaVHpRvrs1wuhpZnFSMQRp36oZ6G5iQQkyvkFP8zC9ywQ1DQqz6FCGyL62sr4fwAVGviKK0YRavCzWPs/s1600/027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-nMhQfFvzgS4LTv3Eez89uDqnjy6RducpscvG-gqqTI2n7tCPTEz6jBsIvRNaVHpRvrs1wuhpZnFSMQRp36oZ6G5iQQkyvkFP8zC9ywQ1DQqz6FCGyL62sr4fwAVGviKK0YRavCzWPs/s320/027.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey wait, no really wait - I missed one.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p>I’ve watched <i>The Dog
Whisperer</i>, I’ve read several <i>How
to bring up a well behaved dog </i>books, and I’ve been told countless times
that the reason he gravitates towards and cocks his leg at: all lamp posts, bollards, and slow moving
OAP’s on the five minute walk to the forest is that he’s
marking his territory. I know this is a truth, and yet why then do I always get
the feeling he’s leaving a trail so he can find his way home.<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2HrdStBeXjM6IyQ6uSPQJtt9ue8G6C3K3hXiK-wf4ciMvqDyEv6OMtlkNALCDAfgTh0Sx5dqRhF9EMYOSfucuKfiM3LPToJ3gzEWAd4ZaI6YnWL23TuRVPAh9bBQymXmDhd-WMttNM44/s1600/054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2HrdStBeXjM6IyQ6uSPQJtt9ue8G6C3K3hXiK-wf4ciMvqDyEv6OMtlkNALCDAfgTh0Sx5dqRhF9EMYOSfucuKfiM3LPToJ3gzEWAd4ZaI6YnWL23TuRVPAh9bBQymXmDhd-WMttNM44/s320/054.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please don't leave me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He’s like Gretel (Hansel’s sister)leaving a trail of breadcrumbs,
only wetter, in case the wicked step-mother (me?) tries to leave him alone and
friendless in the dark sinister forest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeOy5C3emwP_IS0vnToURZr9Illgzld_PxOTvmVzMI3LIQa3BDUdN6UP0kvlatb0n4IbEXvB5b-ShgGhS6jJWvINEOP3TTRX9NSzzNlAS7Uo9ignhBPefP2aUXAbruxJ0wCUIog2PoN1o/s1600/017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeOy5C3emwP_IS0vnToURZr9Illgzld_PxOTvmVzMI3LIQa3BDUdN6UP0kvlatb0n4IbEXvB5b-ShgGhS6jJWvINEOP3TTRX9NSzzNlAS7Uo9ignhBPefP2aUXAbruxJ0wCUIog2PoN1o/s320/017.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very sinister forest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I look at the garden I’ve been creating here in the
Netherlands I wonder if I’m not all that dissimilar to Aflie. I’m not suggesting
I’ve been - knowingly - cocking my leg against the wheelie bin, or marking the
drain pipe with my scent. (To be honest I couldn’t do it, although that being
said, I’ve always felt a sneaky admiration for anyone that can. Especially if they can do it while standing on one leg and cocking the other.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By creating our own patch of garden here in the Netherlands am I marking my territory? Am I announcing that this patch of Dutch soil is
ours - enter at your peril. Or am I like Gretel, so afraid of being lost in a
strange place that I’m creating little crumbs of Britain so that when the time
comes I can remember how to find my way home?</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiKNh8C2ItLjoi6z8Jc3pCXUULXZur8ZCPoHPZ2DBNVSO1YV_TRCgeRuGnBPI5qubc183zllODzi4mq27PxyDwepEJj1qeghhPgFv1olpSGKk8By06gJyRvmte4IEy_Q2wV35HnB6U1Lg/s1600/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiKNh8C2ItLjoi6z8Jc3pCXUULXZur8ZCPoHPZ2DBNVSO1YV_TRCgeRuGnBPI5qubc183zllODzi4mq27PxyDwepEJj1qeghhPgFv1olpSGKk8By06gJyRvmte4IEy_Q2wV35HnB6U1Lg/s320/010.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marking our territory</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-17376522873354304952013-04-26T14:21:00.001+02:002013-04-26T14:21:30.799+02:00When is an expat less of an expat?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUe-7mvxfsJ37T33M6Eqty1Mm91nUfrr9D7C9w77XPjB7yYkN7Kk7d8AoSMfe4IumVkJf3Oz-CQxMowOhd6GKr2KIZiOfXXNweLmrNSRqEoQ6BFtpJnawl6G873OkIeUt8G5MhTrULeKo/s1600/file0001179129151.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUe-7mvxfsJ37T33M6Eqty1Mm91nUfrr9D7C9w77XPjB7yYkN7Kk7d8AoSMfe4IumVkJf3Oz-CQxMowOhd6GKr2KIZiOfXXNweLmrNSRqEoQ6BFtpJnawl6G873OkIeUt8G5MhTrULeKo/s320/file0001179129151.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I often blog about life as an expat or more accurately mine
and Mr Sunshine’s life as expats which, to be honest, is rarely the same as
other people experiences.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Take the last six months for example. We buy a house, move
in and begin to get to really understand our new home become less expats and
more prospective Dutch. We learn the language, get to know our neighbours and
explore the beautiful countryside. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No wait, that was a dream I once had. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What actually happened was: we bought a new house and moved
in, Mr Sunshine then decided to work while completing a certain teaching qualification
and a Masters all in six months. Knowing that we would have no life outside the
office I kept my head down and carried on with my Open University studies, finishing 7 weeks ahead of schedule.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m hoping that dream I had once is about to come true.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mr Sunshine has almost finished his Masters so we’re, tentatively discussing long walks on Sundays,
considering inviting the neighbours round for drinks, and I’ve sent off an
application to join a Dutch language course. Will this make us less expat-ish?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hate to admit it, but I think the answer is no. We will
always feel a little thrill when we see a tin of <i>Heinz Baked Beans,</i> and despite the inflated price drop a couple of
tins in our basket. Mr Sunshine will never get used to the klein (small)
glasses they serve larger in, and I will always gravitate towards dulcet tones
of an English accent – especially Northern accents.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet, something has happened, there has been a change, I’ve
made a connection to the Netherlands.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not with the language, culture or even the countryside, but with the soil.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spent days digging over rumble filled earth, weeks unearthing
artefacts, and analysing the remains of the previous 100 years of habitation. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8XxG06KU4ffvm5f0fSGVlPhg7kyxsbDUJY4hw4m5BpnT4IFMZ3xl08ESHI-VjbfBw-r5UyvSjpC0_zdT5Jv7zORxL5B2t3I7_DIUDMEPQN1l80-WL7NbwOZapDm2Jyp-hHXjko2BwKNk/s1600/028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8XxG06KU4ffvm5f0fSGVlPhg7kyxsbDUJY4hw4m5BpnT4IFMZ3xl08ESHI-VjbfBw-r5UyvSjpC0_zdT5Jv7zORxL5B2t3I7_DIUDMEPQN1l80-WL7NbwOZapDm2Jyp-hHXjko2BwKNk/s320/028.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">100 hundred years of rubble</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZyuvkD5Jo_ZdZoYjnEmNB_n1AadNtgBkSPcVCgaddp86n-EbdfpyTJCZ07Dj-A-dX46PzeYGAgt76EXHQuamXQuwcoVc_EkqhyOtVUBvsnyA_BYLbMVfEzxqaCVAkMHCq8vzEVGmkeg/s1600/039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZyuvkD5Jo_ZdZoYjnEmNB_n1AadNtgBkSPcVCgaddp86n-EbdfpyTJCZ07Dj-A-dX46PzeYGAgt76EXHQuamXQuwcoVc_EkqhyOtVUBvsnyA_BYLbMVfEzxqaCVAkMHCq8vzEVGmkeg/s320/039.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back breaking double digging (Alfie was no help)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve
raked, levelled (I invented my own levelling machine) to flattened the dry sandy
earth. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqoX5ROFXprhH0GI1KCkw-_5oTuNLnn5PP5UbAsnb2W8HIOQ0GW-dFJaICQ1a-W-6T-TNKBcfrooJ9xz8ZKNuo7SnXM__o4NpHLjUiB7k2JA6RFR9aWDvtEZStG58luyRJ3y89ggEPWfU/s1600/084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqoX5ROFXprhH0GI1KCkw-_5oTuNLnn5PP5UbAsnb2W8HIOQ0GW-dFJaICQ1a-W-6T-TNKBcfrooJ9xz8ZKNuo7SnXM__o4NpHLjUiB7k2JA6RFR9aWDvtEZStG58luyRJ3y89ggEPWfU/s320/084.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Patent already applied for!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve braved Hornbach (D.I.Y shop) and bought a sprinkler on the first
day of rain for two weeks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWQ87SY12mhXZINS4w_oxCQI9HZF_buZfmyHjyhLIhvz-DtQLGCoYzNpjPUrMqu7IC7D6LaHsV3mjGkSctoxAiLeyTN_j3_01cNPpYT_WNuHDNO7rBo3iC20LlVIV5XxnNHhfSwZza9VY/s1600/085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWQ87SY12mhXZINS4w_oxCQI9HZF_buZfmyHjyhLIhvz-DtQLGCoYzNpjPUrMqu7IC7D6LaHsV3mjGkSctoxAiLeyTN_j3_01cNPpYT_WNuHDNO7rBo3iC20LlVIV5XxnNHhfSwZza9VY/s320/085.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who buys sprinkles in the Netherlands?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve ordered 32 m<sup>2 </sup>of<sup> </sup>turf from
a company that speak no English. I’ve worked our small patch of Dutch earth till
my back aches, my palms throb with blisters and my fingernails resemble an 18th
century coffin escapee. I’ve had soil inside my ears, socks, and hair. I’ve even tasted the soil that generations of Dutch
have worked on before me, which is why I can after almost two years in the Netherlands say - </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘I am
becoming, not a lot, but a little less of an expat.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2yZ21pnuihDbJRMZqki0j4R7wnSVogoy1-PkbLGmT9BBZAWYR0RRCA12aFdv36ViRoD7X1NNRkBk6qGn9eYFgcJ5Bs27G8RDXNVobAB-tu4wlX1X3ULBWNjnPBymh_eF-eDNWK0IZoVc/s1600/067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2yZ21pnuihDbJRMZqki0j4R7wnSVogoy1-PkbLGmT9BBZAWYR0RRCA12aFdv36ViRoD7X1NNRkBk6qGn9eYFgcJ5Bs27G8RDXNVobAB-tu4wlX1X3ULBWNjnPBymh_eF-eDNWK0IZoVc/s320/067.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr Sunshine connecting with Dutch soil?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-90082976911599674622013-01-01T14:54:00.002+01:002013-01-01T14:54:37.588+01:00Irrepressible Farting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday was our first experience of New Year’s Eve in
Breda, and I found myself asking, over and over, what went wrong?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mr Sunshine and I woke at 7.30 am, not to the friendly toll
of the church bells, but to the loud proud blast of our neighbour’s first
firework. Alfie feigned raising an eyebrow, Mr Sunshine mumbled something
unprintable, and I assumed it was the act of a sensible dad type figure testing
out his safety procedures for the evening celebrations while his children were securely
tucked up in bed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
24 hours later I laugh at my naivety <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-GtWnj0HTZwX9B2thFTo0mQI6K3wO-GFcilRdYlx344gobxlZbhGVHrLhczLWukFAsbFRVuCNOHbSJmoSxv1N4eGVIOSD_2mdcIM8-9cZtn1U5vmCmEpXKnW13eRwsBXII7547jRoq04/s1600/030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-GtWnj0HTZwX9B2thFTo0mQI6K3wO-GFcilRdYlx344gobxlZbhGVHrLhczLWukFAsbFRVuCNOHbSJmoSxv1N4eGVIOSD_2mdcIM8-9cZtn1U5vmCmEpXKnW13eRwsBXII7547jRoq04/s320/030.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looks pretty?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By 8am the city rang with challenging detonations. Battle lines
were drawn where once had been garden fences, rivers became frontiers and
the streets were a no-man’s land. Only a few brave souls ventured outside their own four walls. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was one of those brave souls.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I may never recover.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aflie’s walk waits for no man, and by lunchtime he’d made
his need for walkies pretty clear. So wrapped in my Christmas scarf, I took to
the streets where I saw no adults, only children. Gangs of roaming kids had taken
over the city like a 1980’s futuristic film. I saw one child, who (to give his
parents some credit) was at least 6 years old, lob a lit firecracker to a group
of children a few metres away. Alfie padded on indifferently, while I pursed my
lips in righteous indignation. What had happened to my lovely new home-city and
the sensible, practical Dutch I had come to so admire?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Working in the office that afternoon was torture, as
eruptions and explosions rattled the glass in our windows. It felt as if the
whole city was suffering from a severe form of irrepressible farting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaEYXSQzB97JWpvM0mMt7MCPw-DjOYISl5dK3T_sU5gp9mBYiLL-M5b8uXIvzc1MIjE_x7QYrzKhaCOnqkPDiTFiNSYIIKv2YbIO1kOcZfCi_uCZ4gacq8ot2eBu9LQBYlS43QFWjC6ys/s1600/033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaEYXSQzB97JWpvM0mMt7MCPw-DjOYISl5dK3T_sU5gp9mBYiLL-M5b8uXIvzc1MIjE_x7QYrzKhaCOnqkPDiTFiNSYIIKv2YbIO1kOcZfCi_uCZ4gacq8ot2eBu9LQBYlS43QFWjC6ys/s320/033.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Calm before the storm</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPmyJRZ2y72gRCAbxJd0EpGm823uEv53tD3wpV4NHC5VxbJzxaGPUD_a_eLZ4BUP1xoM-VFLuHfQj5D8Kb9IbC8mCbftxoKZXwAvhzxxSL_iykju0roNttUQCPPFNeM8eDyTcVqwEEei0/s1600/053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPmyJRZ2y72gRCAbxJd0EpGm823uEv53tD3wpV4NHC5VxbJzxaGPUD_a_eLZ4BUP1xoM-VFLuHfQj5D8Kb9IbC8mCbftxoKZXwAvhzxxSL_iykju0roNttUQCPPFNeM8eDyTcVqwEEei0/s320/053.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we go</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkZFE3kMhlFAw45_5h5pqumHgeX0r37V8mADqaNE0PfBN-W8JFSeclRX48V-DT98-AJJEIaJT_MD8z9Ldwy1WdCk7DLEZ6UmYOjNkJ-RFNT_14vT0olJmy8FQYsdMzQmJzXzXeFeIwVyg/s1600/056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkZFE3kMhlFAw45_5h5pqumHgeX0r37V8mADqaNE0PfBN-W8JFSeclRX48V-DT98-AJJEIaJT_MD8z9Ldwy1WdCk7DLEZ6UmYOjNkJ-RFNT_14vT0olJmy8FQYsdMzQmJzXzXeFeIwVyg/s320/056.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andy having braved a closer look, runs back to his troop</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVWJyQT-4z_TS1obi1z88C0bJ7z2b-lzjOsPc9gsy8Dd65B5-GdYkEtBW0R88GZftcn2mlbwCn7QzRtUyYVBcVKny1zzAVmJV2sbQO90V5_2AoIgWklY55okzmcN0DL9cwenPqgM8U8CY/s1600/060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVWJyQT-4z_TS1obi1z88C0bJ7z2b-lzjOsPc9gsy8Dd65B5-GdYkEtBW0R88GZftcn2mlbwCn7QzRtUyYVBcVKny1zzAVmJV2sbQO90V5_2AoIgWklY55okzmcN0DL9cwenPqgM8U8CY/s320/060.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">War torn Beirut or sleepy Breda?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Luckily, for us, we spent the evening at a great New Year’s
Eve party where good food, wine and company pushed away the thoughts of the flatulent city.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, 10 minutes before midnight armed with nothing more
than umbrellas we hit the streets. I
expected an organised firework display; instead, we entered, what was not
unlike, my image of a raging battle torn street in Beirut. There were no barriers,
no safely officers, and no delighted children gazing in wonder at the sky. Instead
crowds of people hugged doorways, while gangs of less than sober youths ignited
industrial sized fireworks in the middle of the streets.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixPwezp2kOiIv9lugT9V38mey797KsQfaaDDCWparctHSrq2oB39OI47ap3H-Ei16wgzjjtIk3lwPSDyfYcMGkZnUp3Cg90Fwn8-YEsb9lkhoVyNaeetrD0vYffcC54MyObkHWB7UHIrk/s1600/041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixPwezp2kOiIv9lugT9V38mey797KsQfaaDDCWparctHSrq2oB39OI47ap3H-Ei16wgzjjtIk3lwPSDyfYcMGkZnUp3Cg90Fwn8-YEsb9lkhoVyNaeetrD0vYffcC54MyObkHWB7UHIrk/s320/041.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rocket launched</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning I’m reeling, I’m confused; I see a little chink
in Breda’s perfect armour. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdkFa-wbFwqZ0hQaYBIZM8BCacKufqUu-oMbSkjAfBwwsHvm_2mcS6KZByha_I4g3qf85uWDLk_FL38xcrvOFsekRpVTEkpc0FEDyvHl0X9gVAUyra1KDAKX2kyJOGzWWiTPQD1m81EzM/s1600/064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdkFa-wbFwqZ0hQaYBIZM8BCacKufqUu-oMbSkjAfBwwsHvm_2mcS6KZByha_I4g3qf85uWDLk_FL38xcrvOFsekRpVTEkpc0FEDyvHl0X9gVAUyra1KDAKX2kyJOGzWWiTPQD1m81EzM/s320/064.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andy and Alfie completely ignored the whole thing, I think they have the right idea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-19817943312312600292012-12-09T22:10:00.001+01:002012-12-09T22:10:35.653+01:00Letters from the Netherlands: Half the Sky<a href="http://private-letters-to-my-bestfriend.blogspot.com/2012/12/half-sky.html?spref=bl">Letters from the Netherlands: Half the Sky</a>: I haven’t blogged for a while, because I’ve been thinking. Last time I wrote I was worried about a drip in the cellar, the Polish b...Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-48341301306541214052012-12-08T15:34:00.000+01:002012-12-08T15:48:19.136+01:00Half the Sky <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I haven’t blogged for a while, because I’ve been thinking.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last time I wrote I was worried about a drip
in the cellar, the Polish builders (who we thought had abandoned us) came
hurrying back to repair the drip, and while they were here repaired the small patch of condensation we
noticed inside a light fitting. The cellar drip turned out to be nothing to worry about;
however, the condensation was actually a hole in the pipes on the verge of
turning into a flood.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbo19tCXjiMEFlfW5XJC_QI4YZinimVeY4-F4gASq9GTaCBcRp4VtzixlWdc2CGkmRmI3yrvzqALB8nkzCuwsj178g4HfzkZeMhyphenhyphen1DOl-51yRB_PV3UZHYbYd-DWvKrF2opnp7jEC70tY/s1600/drop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbo19tCXjiMEFlfW5XJC_QI4YZinimVeY4-F4gASq9GTaCBcRp4VtzixlWdc2CGkmRmI3yrvzqALB8nkzCuwsj178g4HfzkZeMhyphenhyphen1DOl-51yRB_PV3UZHYbYd-DWvKrF2opnp7jEC70tY/s1600/drop.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t stop thinking about how I was so consumed by the
drip that I’d ignored the approaching flood. I think I may have spent most of
my life worrying about the drip. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want to see if I can change.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR27pQSFbOZROUQgfEeuw0LyHdngfsmsju8FMKj_aGaNgxPVMOegCuPKaDS_RnU3tXyheQJyAnEl8XvgXc3q0gIeupxzgqqL-vcRJDkt2HsT8hEtDZou3BgI1xGyBsPKfaaM1iNrtvop0/s1600/waterfall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR27pQSFbOZROUQgfEeuw0LyHdngfsmsju8FMKj_aGaNgxPVMOegCuPKaDS_RnU3tXyheQJyAnEl8XvgXc3q0gIeupxzgqqL-vcRJDkt2HsT8hEtDZou3BgI1xGyBsPKfaaM1iNrtvop0/s320/waterfall.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also can’t stop thinking about a book I read called <b><i><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Half-The-Sky-Nicholas-Kristof/dp/1844086828/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1354962576&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Half the Sky</a>,</i></b> a passionate call to arms against our era’s most pervasive
human rights violation, by Pulitzer Prize-winning reporting team, husband and
wife Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. I admit to being a sucker
for a bit of sensationalism; reading the luridness of other lives makes me
appreciate the good fortune in my own. I sleep well tucked up in my
own bed knowing there are people out there like Kristof and WuDunn fighting for
the rights of the oppressed. Or I used to.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
All my life I’ve felt an admiration for the humanitarian campaigners in the world,
admiration and a vague sense of guilt, could I do more, should I? I’ve given to
charity when it hasn’t inconvenienced me too much, I watched Children in Need
and laughed at all the ‘selfless’ celebrities, on Christmas eve I given to
street collectors if it was easy enough to reach my loose change, I had a regular
direct debit supporting unprivileged children I knew nothing about. Surely
that’s enough, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Half
the Sky is not a dramatic book. Luridness and sensationalism are not used as
gimmicks, and in an odd call for balance and realism the authors ask that
people don’t dramatize the facts they read within the book. That said, it won’t alter the truth that if
you read this book (and I hope you do) the stories will turn your knuckles
white as you grip your Kindle or paperback.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqidRrx5sYWVnGlO9_F6bVMQ_UO1z1kww8eq4flvAg6yFLQU8seKinCJ17CBVUA7nUlf6ZUepTk1IK1Kp5D_8cRsMdC0IbdYcWjkL3QJN9FVZr61hgrlU_PqOq3I7lfdgAXr8VDzwiYfQ/s1600/HTS-book-cover-200-300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqidRrx5sYWVnGlO9_F6bVMQ_UO1z1kww8eq4flvAg6yFLQU8seKinCJ17CBVUA7nUlf6ZUepTk1IK1Kp5D_8cRsMdC0IbdYcWjkL3QJN9FVZr61hgrlU_PqOq3I7lfdgAXr8VDzwiYfQ/s1600/HTS-book-cover-200-300.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I
thought I was too selfish to care, really care, about the injustices that
still take place all over the world. But this book won’t
leave me alone, I finished reading it over a month ago and everyday its stories
invade my reality; this detail in particular won’t go away:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt 36pt;">
There are
approximately 27 million slaves alive today – more than at any point in history
– and 56 percent are women. (http://www.halftheskymovement.org/)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt 36pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
It
isn’t just the humanitarian issues in the book that consume my thoughts it’s
the secrets too: the secret of happiness, and the secret of The British, a
secret that I at least didn’t know of before, and one which made me proud to
have been born on that small complicated island.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
If I
post this, it means I’m committed to changing, to stop worrying about the drips in my life and start to caring about the floods.<br />
<br />
I don't know what that change is yet, or how I'm going to do it. But, I do know that when I look back on the second half of my life, I don't just want to be proud of being British, I want to be proud of being me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt 36pt;">
<br /></div>
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</div>
Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-33154735658335355412012-11-25T19:29:00.001+01:002012-11-25T19:29:49.101+01:00Letters from the Netherlands: Education the hard way<a href="http://private-letters-to-my-bestfriend.blogspot.com/2012/11/education-hard-way.html?spref=bl">Letters from the Netherlands: Education the hard way</a>: As most of my family and friends know I love acquiring new knowledge, which is probably why being an expat suits me so well – there is al...Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-78454728695757247732012-11-17T18:34:00.001+01:002012-11-17T20:03:08.522+01:00Education the hard way <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
As most of my family and friends know I love acquiring new
knowledge, which is probably why being an expat suits me so well – there is
always, always something I don’t know.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiHuFjiXWgyKdlsu-fG001whxowMsAiTqkkKF09vXPYy0iVjLHAK5o0uJ1p1zAe90t4nzBys88Sp1HDGA01hSqdu0Izb_48bWbgb_l1INeum6OS_a7HNJse0X5f2hqt9Dg8aQtI9c8V-E/s1600/rollercoaster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiHuFjiXWgyKdlsu-fG001whxowMsAiTqkkKF09vXPYy0iVjLHAK5o0uJ1p1zAe90t4nzBys88Sp1HDGA01hSqdu0Izb_48bWbgb_l1INeum6OS_a7HNJse0X5f2hqt9Dg8aQtI9c8V-E/s1600/rollercoaster.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t have a photography memory, strong powers of
concentration or even a particularly high IQ, what I do have is the ability to
be excited by, thrilled even by finding or learning new facts the ways
others might be by theme park rides. Right now, today, as I write this I’m at
the top of the world’s highest roller-coaster. I’m trying to take in so much
information that my heart barely stops beating before the rush of information
arrives.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the last few hours I learnt several new words, here are
just four of them:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Ascriptions</b> - <i>the attributing of a relationship between
something and somebody or something else</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Carious</b>- <i>having caries, especially of the teeth</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Interlocutor - </b><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">a participant in a discussion or conversation.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Schematic</b>- <i>showing the basic form or layout of
something</i> (Really? It looks like it should mean something far more exciting
like: a Jewish pudding or the science of toy racing cars)</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also found out that I was wrong to believe there are five
vowels in English, there are five vowel letters in English but twenty vowel
sounds – who knew? And bƱtʃƏ is the sound of butcher, rımƆ:s of remorse<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjip4xcsHzuNyX7F9M4Smgm0oBapZx9rRNDd9Nhz2tLOusfwKUlt7KSYkxsOw1PHCcyAtqxJufUMHOHayhFimgT6q9qOSYjQVAO1nGiunUgCq-9w-QAoIYG0ppihf9K1eZ2h9J2fVm5ZDI/s1600/022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjip4xcsHzuNyX7F9M4Smgm0oBapZx9rRNDd9Nhz2tLOusfwKUlt7KSYkxsOw1PHCcyAtqxJufUMHOHayhFimgT6q9qOSYjQVAO1nGiunUgCq-9w-QAoIYG0ppihf9K1eZ2h9J2fVm5ZDI/s320/022.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only a tiny drop, looks innocent right?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Another piece of education was that that water dripping out of a wall is
a baaad thing, especially an inside wall. A bowl may catch the drips for the
time being but sometime very soon we are going to have to open up the walls and
locate the little dribbly bugger.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4g8_I2dtYXK9cvzfzjxlngK5D7fnfJjnQXP6lFEdmHfUECIX3A3-0Y0eBVWq-eGXgoeT54Lk9DWIA9YHHnCAvVSFUaNBq9pZoMiNFrMqe9Wwie-v00ybMOpgkrPyazSZw5xvmBRiiF0/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4g8_I2dtYXK9cvzfzjxlngK5D7fnfJjnQXP6lFEdmHfUECIX3A3-0Y0eBVWq-eGXgoeT54Lk9DWIA9YHHnCAvVSFUaNBq9pZoMiNFrMqe9Wwie-v00ybMOpgkrPyazSZw5xvmBRiiF0/s320/019.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the last thing I learnt today and the piece of information
that sent me plummeting at neck breaking speed to the bottom of my own personal
roller-coaster is that the friendly monthly estimates for your utility bills
bare absolutely no relation to the actual amount you will have to pay after a
year in the Nederlands. If it had only been double what we were quoted I might
have been able to let life return to semi normal, as it is Mr Sunshine is
wrapping his ill (again) self in a quilt to watch TV and I am writing this
while, peering through the ice crystals growing on my eyelashes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixG02zdFwn6gbGOZ9C8rFvGzNwQQQnzOAm5CHYz1x8O29Wk0fGrx4p15ZzWRbmM2St1rTzl4P0ENWlmPwPb2YtGuPdR-tGyeCPnMJFlsoPifaxn_1cacqQ7cbb2kOed7YcqzvyDv7SRrg/s1600/023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixG02zdFwn6gbGOZ9C8rFvGzNwQQQnzOAm5CHYz1x8O29Wk0fGrx4p15ZzWRbmM2St1rTzl4P0ENWlmPwPb2YtGuPdR-tGyeCPnMJFlsoPifaxn_1cacqQ7cbb2kOed7YcqzvyDv7SRrg/s320/023.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I just want it to stop!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-57028699776320028182012-11-09T16:34:00.001+01:002012-11-09T16:38:14.613+01:00Lemsip – Citrosan same difference <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
As an expat, sometime it feels as if all I notice are the
differences from home. Some things however, are so similar that it jolts you
into noticing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-KsCQcTQCWAUiru6O3Qxcn72ZlR321lEg5WzG2xiu8acZq68OMLPZ5C2Q9Qn9RBmswEPdBnCGpqdM9TehYAunR4KEyf9-ezc-WbE4YrktQ5eNwAHcE_0v0ABxd9QQaZbBVpj7k9a-2pQ/s1600/005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-KsCQcTQCWAUiru6O3Qxcn72ZlR321lEg5WzG2xiu8acZq68OMLPZ5C2Q9Qn9RBmswEPdBnCGpqdM9TehYAunR4KEyf9-ezc-WbE4YrktQ5eNwAHcE_0v0ABxd9QQaZbBVpj7k9a-2pQ/s320/005.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lemsips the same whereever you are</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This week for instance I am recovering, well recovered
really, from a nasty bout of flu. Which, as it happens sounded remarkable
similar to the bouts of flu my family in the UK have been struggling with, and
unless this super bug is carried by an equally super sneeze that can travel 300
crow miles (exactly, I checked) it’s not the same bug. The symptoms; however, sounded
so similar that my son asked if I’d caught from my brother, who apparently had passed
it on to everyone else, but barring a super strong virus with a seven week
incubation period it seemed unlikely.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know how other people like to nurse a virus, personally
I like plenty of biscuits, indulgent TV, microwave meals (for Mr Sunshine) and
Lemsip. Luckily for me Mr Sunshine was a nurse in a past life and leaped like a
gazelle to provide my cure-alls. Mr Sunshine is as caring as a nurse as I am an
indifferent one. He fought the same
virus for several weeks and I had to wonder if I recovered so quickly because
he’d taken such good care of me. Would he have recovered in a week if I’d been
as caring? It was thoughts like this that sent off my constant companion,
guilt, into overdrive. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Guilt is my guilty secret, it’s the sin I indulge in whenever
I let my guard down, like a nail biter whose fingers rise unbidden to her mouth
while watching TV or sat in the waiting room of a Doctors surgery. The nail
biter isn’t aware she’s chewing her fingers until they start to bleed or
someone close knocks her hand from her mouth. Well, that’s what it’s like when
you make friends with guilt. You are aware it does no good, benifits no one and
makes you look ugly but once you start it’s really hard to stop.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Guilt can consume, and spill over into the ridiculous.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUxtmVIIzCN2OkQY8V5vOf9pTOvkBDkWKnwRE4DkY5ed9eiHVQ8M2Ubo8eqf8UisEgBZH39irR_0y8By-Pyoik3hyphenhypheniTOJTJbTghbJTXdxXFCiyABhVv0_FpV1vjRCkTDvs3hbIxMaz1QU/s1600/023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUxtmVIIzCN2OkQY8V5vOf9pTOvkBDkWKnwRE4DkY5ed9eiHVQ8M2Ubo8eqf8UisEgBZH39irR_0y8By-Pyoik3hyphenhypheniTOJTJbTghbJTXdxXFCiyABhVv0_FpV1vjRCkTDvs3hbIxMaz1QU/s320/023.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My gift</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monday night, feeling too ill to manage the final flight of
stairs I slept in the guest bedroom, I fell asleep alone with: throat pastilles,
tissues and an empty mug of Dutch Lemsip by the bed. I woke around 5am staring
into two bright eyes - Alfies. Sometime during the night he pushed open the stiff
door, sneaked onto the bed and rested his head on the pillow. As my eyes began
to focus in the half-light, I noticed that between me and Alfie was some rather
odd shapes. I felt a lump in my sore throat as I realised that during the night
our sweet little dog must have rounded up all his favourite toys from different
corners of the house and delivered them <b>silently</b>
(even the horrid orange squeaky ball) onto the bed, where he waited patiently
for me to wake up and appreciate his gift.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even the dog is a better nurse than me!<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0z1PCiGdeOBcmjTQPP-kFBlH0XuCK3QLw_th9_IBIkEbap6viXugF1jKs8u4eXH4CWNlVsLqXtxg6cxeX61eAxPaqP3iEWEgbyYinw-_OnJZuKu2MSFkDTEKr89EPrRxkKN05CZn7nEQ/s1600/006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0z1PCiGdeOBcmjTQPP-kFBlH0XuCK3QLw_th9_IBIkEbap6viXugF1jKs8u4eXH4CWNlVsLqXtxg6cxeX61eAxPaqP3iEWEgbyYinw-_OnJZuKu2MSFkDTEKr89EPrRxkKN05CZn7nEQ/s320/006.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My attempt at the Hairy Bikers pies.. hummm something else <br />
that's not changing fast - my cooking skills</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some things will never change<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-65662344430166686192012-11-06T19:35:00.001+01:002012-11-06T19:35:58.678+01:00Letters from the Netherlands: Moving house and friendly slugs<a href="http://private-letters-to-my-bestfriend.blogspot.com/2012/11/its-been-long-time-too-long-in-fact-six.html?spref=bl">Letters from the Netherlands: Moving house and friendly slugs</a>: It’s been a long time, too long in fact, six whole weeks since I last posted. Anyone would think we’d just moved house. Just kidding ...Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-48772981374292609222012-11-03T13:59:00.000+01:002012-11-03T14:23:18.736+01:00Moving house and friendly slugs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It’s been a long time, too long in fact, six whole weeks
since I last posted. Anyone would think we’d just moved house.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig2pbPmntXYoFX7jMzNB7DE_fsCT6alMwvA3TlRIVZF4AqhGArZDc-YBXKL3L1YoZWMZbW9AnC715vjt89ILmH69ReAxy6O7bP3BAFRVl1j0RfrVWHgZ6x3PGtZfcHw4xNlUvU_s4iYmc/s1600/069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig2pbPmntXYoFX7jMzNB7DE_fsCT6alMwvA3TlRIVZF4AqhGArZDc-YBXKL3L1YoZWMZbW9AnC715vjt89ILmH69ReAxy6O7bP3BAFRVl1j0RfrVWHgZ6x3PGtZfcHw4xNlUvU_s4iYmc/s320/069.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just kidding</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So much has happened in the last few weeks that I don’t know
where or how to start. Should it be with our makelaar (special adviser) with
his film star looks, temperamental phone call returning service, and ability to
secure us our dream house? Or, perhaps with the Dutch bank and the notaries and
their fascination with Andy’s imminent demise? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nah, that’s all too much for my return post, I think I should
start by telling you about our new home.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8kosDLjBXJTEW4mxkJZ-UNbbJ-Hk1HLdP1KQXg0zvaFn4qCH6RpYkLcFcMdkXORYTYDxvqxQZLXv1PBmKorfrnOBaLqGNIMWbBTQDOAshC4x6ZTEQ_t4UYtZHkTV9R3TfBf7zI-HqdDU/s1600/024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8kosDLjBXJTEW4mxkJZ-UNbbJ-Hk1HLdP1KQXg0zvaFn4qCH6RpYkLcFcMdkXORYTYDxvqxQZLXv1PBmKorfrnOBaLqGNIMWbBTQDOAshC4x6ZTEQ_t4UYtZHkTV9R3TfBf7zI-HqdDU/s320/024.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bye bye apartment</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Three weeks ago we packed up our lives once more into
cardboard, had a serious chat with Alfie about behaving and waited by the phone
for news of the keys.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUl44V38daKWKPnh304EIQnyIOokchm5krFn4-4_INu1IchyY41drQLRmzPqRmQ57BQU9vbOiQRn8KOYUpxcI_UtToEKezzbmbPQZodRLq-yvMWzhf8eAm1uiCeOxxWeL0DRlNyJsAMk/s1600/023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUl44V38daKWKPnh304EIQnyIOokchm5krFn4-4_INu1IchyY41drQLRmzPqRmQ57BQU9vbOiQRn8KOYUpxcI_UtToEKezzbmbPQZodRLq-yvMWzhf8eAm1uiCeOxxWeL0DRlNyJsAMk/s320/023.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alfie promised to be good (he lied by the way)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Twenty days ago, three strong, selfless men turned up at our
apartment at noon with no more incentive than a pint with Mr Sunshine and carried our
lives into the hire van, a thankless task really as they had to do the same in
reverse a few hours later.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRdJgiq4FOuRi35rADSrIz0BqWrOt-f3RrYiXc4DwKdyu8PhWkzWdtrktI3sLv46qpQC2_t4A7MeDZCXpCTWgBmKsEEcBWzeaoy6oyjvI0teMvU_lyDK5HupmYyy0pyvIrLzeXZJMSfGk/s1600/025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRdJgiq4FOuRi35rADSrIz0BqWrOt-f3RrYiXc4DwKdyu8PhWkzWdtrktI3sLv46qpQC2_t4A7MeDZCXpCTWgBmKsEEcBWzeaoy6oyjvI0teMvU_lyDK5HupmYyy0pyvIrLzeXZJMSfGk/s320/025.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our new home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They left after several hours with our not only with our gratitude and promise
of dinner, but the realisation of the amazing friendships we've made since we
became expats. Back home in the UK, it is only family who would give so much
without expecting anything in return. Only family would break their backs
humping box after box of our useless processions, smile at Mr Sunshine’s off
the wall removal techniques or restack my attempts at filling the removal van
without even a sigh. But of course our families are miles away and these three
lovely men stepped in to fill the void. Thank you Martin, Robbie and Jack you
make the world a much nicer place for a couple of middle aged expats like us.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Arriving at our new home was more than a little unnerving. The
words ‘what have we done’ danced around my brain more than once as I: gaped at
the wreck of a garden, made friends with the giant slug who makes his way into the kitchen via the gap under the door,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdshGhSvpz63Nwz9n4nN7YNuaPRgVHTiaqnQ9HJhecyo9cRWZSdIjJQ6qADLjY86leFaWUrtsfu28zdgiZOEgtGc7L78DCKVY3cCgr916VjxZTcb1uGff6jE7IYeNCfu7YtQ9vuuvP8tA/s1600/040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdshGhSvpz63Nwz9n4nN7YNuaPRgVHTiaqnQ9HJhecyo9cRWZSdIjJQ6qADLjY86leFaWUrtsfu28zdgiZOEgtGc7L78DCKVY3cCgr916VjxZTcb1uGff6jE7IYeNCfu7YtQ9vuuvP8tA/s320/040.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spot the slug</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
built up courage to descend the vertical, narrow stairs, </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE8GTAIqeD0zNwWCD6ejMLLjS7u_-P1H0axmfUCO_WTv1tfC3xp9iFgIvsVCgZKQ4ZwqpxjGAjuWgunCSgInHzRVSEfgBmf5O_3-2l3LrYIkJo47eRGsJKFDqaPgsRWwXK9xI8xa1EUvY/s1600/108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE8GTAIqeD0zNwWCD6ejMLLjS7u_-P1H0axmfUCO_WTv1tfC3xp9iFgIvsVCgZKQ4ZwqpxjGAjuWgunCSgInHzRVSEfgBmf5O_3-2l3LrYIkJo47eRGsJKFDqaPgsRWwXK9xI8xa1EUvY/s200/108.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">not good with vertigo</td></tr>
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found yet another patch of damp</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJjV_eIwZV0Kgj70n0F-CkGiCFXyC1zVixlB9t-bwPlPwF42GU-aQFfdARggkwNjX-DHsgHm9H1zS-NxElH4jDa_IV4bPr8wo-I23_xfRl5nriPTh37dsX2u89vYM8t35bYrNvYHscu4/s1600/107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJjV_eIwZV0Kgj70n0F-CkGiCFXyC1zVixlB9t-bwPlPwF42GU-aQFfdARggkwNjX-DHsgHm9H1zS-NxElH4jDa_IV4bPr8wo-I23_xfRl5nriPTh37dsX2u89vYM8t35bYrNvYHscu4/s200/107.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rising damp?</td></tr>
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and listened to the burrowing of the woodworm. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyuj3SLHaUl2FJJtVrQ4C1VwUMKylW1CI-fdN4smbmUhaT2zHMkVsPycfJn7Bfvf_0I8OLKYWyyvwkCoa12GhfRDGU0rBDy735vxRNnvrvsjhVGk_Bxg1MmwqG81fiz40JUQXkKY4cwHQ/s1600/099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyuj3SLHaUl2FJJtVrQ4C1VwUMKylW1CI-fdN4smbmUhaT2zHMkVsPycfJn7Bfvf_0I8OLKYWyyvwkCoa12GhfRDGU0rBDy735vxRNnvrvsjhVGk_Bxg1MmwqG81fiz40JUQXkKY4cwHQ/s200/099.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Same sound as money going down a drain</td></tr>
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The heating doesn't work properly, neither does the spare bedroom light, the doors don't close and all the windows come with built in drafts. Corners have been cut at every conceivable point and the builder only speaks
Dutch and Polish. But we love it.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Some people may make house buying decisions based on
practicality and finance - we’re working on that. We made the decision based on nearness to dog
walks and pubs, space for an office, guest bedroom and extra toilet. For me
personally, I can’t speak for Mr Sunshine, I love and I mean really love that
fact this house has almost no right angled walls, everything is slightly twisted,
off centre, asymmetrical, unbalanced, it feels like a home from a fairy-tale
where beauty is found in flaws and the imperfect.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Kinda suits us.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNqwGGQtJEp9f2gol0Yv0ZyzgySxH4MABrGP-q30_O3na8GZ0pn_fz3Im5VsNSsdhR_YlCu_sUl7tuqhWGxtBRZq2xl7v7M5XXQc3frgTugduYa0lRXCw0HdQjzk4_AeX5IZVTQAwq9B4/s1600/109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNqwGGQtJEp9f2gol0Yv0ZyzgySxH4MABrGP-q30_O3na8GZ0pn_fz3Im5VsNSsdhR_YlCu_sUl7tuqhWGxtBRZq2xl7v7M5XXQc3frgTugduYa0lRXCw0HdQjzk4_AeX5IZVTQAwq9B4/s320/109.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking good in his new office</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS47_bqyaytUXqUoarLCCQljebWa9PawTGWoCQ9uGJ2OcsfGdtJ6D6tZrus3rIwYfPTtgO7TxFwCHyo7V7m_WNIT9WWAJahgvn4T9-nMWlfZkuqSJV73fmSi7FAaZTgEshK4Yd5ueNK2w/s1600/047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS47_bqyaytUXqUoarLCCQljebWa9PawTGWoCQ9uGJ2OcsfGdtJ6D6tZrus3rIwYfPTtgO7TxFwCHyo7V7m_WNIT9WWAJahgvn4T9-nMWlfZkuqSJV73fmSi7FAaZTgEshK4Yd5ueNK2w/s320/047.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of our new walks</td></tr>
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Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-55930894787591932572012-09-28T09:27:00.001+02:002012-09-28T09:27:40.654+02:00Letters from the Netherlands: Letters from the Netherlands: Sometimes life gets ...<a href="http://private-letters-to-my-bestfriend.blogspot.com/2012/09/letters-from-netherlands-sometimes-life.html?spref=bl">Letters from the Netherlands: Letters from the Netherlands: Sometimes life gets ...</a>: Letters from the Netherlands: Sometimes life gets in the way : I’m not impressed with my blogging output lately, even Mr Sunshine has commen...Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-44360458407855469122012-09-25T16:12:00.000+02:002012-09-25T16:12:33.088+02:00Apologies to the staff and regulars<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Moving house is what expats do, it goes with the territory
and ‘if’ that’s true, then I was born to be an expat. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUrzTNzAV8lbsoySAS5SsmXUz6j_oob_uC7tP2jfUcVhMbCdMtcJL2AGkuVyQKOrxIhdxVc-TuEdMhSfT7L4rwm2R2SEJBBqwnKaiWJTWalsdF2POYfhfWkRhkkyM0ykId9cRKObea4l4/s1600/forsalesign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUrzTNzAV8lbsoySAS5SsmXUz6j_oob_uC7tP2jfUcVhMbCdMtcJL2AGkuVyQKOrxIhdxVc-TuEdMhSfT7L4rwm2R2SEJBBqwnKaiWJTWalsdF2POYfhfWkRhkkyM0ykId9cRKObea4l4/s1600/forsalesign.jpg" /></a></div>
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I moved four times while living with my parents (that I’m
aware of), while the boys were growing up I moved five times and this will be
my seventh move since knowing Mr Sunshine. That’s sixteen moves in total, an
average of once every three years. Statistics state that moving house is up
there in the top most stressful things that you can happen in a person’s life,
along with death or separation from a partner.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m not a big follower of statistic, yet it might explain
why I’ve been acting a bit strange lately -stress can do funny things to a
person.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve made numerous ‘to do’ lists with links to web site and special
notes. Sounds efficient? Nope, not really, do I actually need to list <i>Esprit (clothes shop) </i>in my 'must inform before
we move' list. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I started finding things in odd places too, Sunday morning my
ironing board developed Bambi legs. When investigating this cute wobble of my
normally sturdy friend, I noticed I’d placed one of its legs in a bowl of
yogurt. I can only assume the bowl of yogurt was on the floor because it didn’t
fit in with any of my to do lists for that day and so had been removed from sight.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh65apxCRJXJD5Pf0Lj5y77NaRmUd5xYWuMJw9C19joyNNFwGRJ7t8q6iZ1ND5OJlpcsnBt19BCJ89a0RONTVbt33tph1lQREVajwmDPwogqyyUKV-nTZG70XoFPinHOzzBakwSj6qAgdo/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh65apxCRJXJD5Pf0Lj5y77NaRmUd5xYWuMJw9C19joyNNFwGRJ7t8q6iZ1ND5OJlpcsnBt19BCJ89a0RONTVbt33tph1lQREVajwmDPwogqyyUKV-nTZG70XoFPinHOzzBakwSj6qAgdo/s320/001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep.. ironing board and yoghurt combo</td></tr>
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The yogurt wasn’t the only odd event but it was the <i>straw that broke the camel’s back </i>on Sunday. I
needed to relax, calm down, chill out, loosen up (get pissed). However Mr
Sunshine works on Mondays so drinkies in the Grote Markt were out of the
question. Until – I had an invitation for coffee.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The coffee never materialised but the wine did, again and
again and again. I don’t remember much but apparently I had a great time. <o:p></o:p></div>
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To the staff and regulars at the Cafe de Baron I would like to
apologise for boring everyone with more stories of the Hairy Bikers Diet. I
would also like to apologise for the dancing (hopefully not alone), wine
assures me I have rhythm (Mr Sunshine assures me I have not). Finally would
like to apologise for any confusion, while I’m sure in time we might all become great friends, it might not be quite so instantaneous as I indicated on Sunday. The invitation to Christmas lunch was perhaps a bit forward of me and as Mr Sunshine reminds me, we will be in the UK then so perhaps it will be a little far for everyone to travel.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP8ff0c40zeL0Hhev3vygzZVaOFkVkWjYhMkA3BZgG8dj6Erp_MleU4jFzIyfag3TYRcHjVgPuTdUaSviUQgjoTD1HKuZtPGXbG5RRUMpXVU-6LJ4nnQQykVRggLmXPhd_iQoD0CvXBF4/s1600/017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP8ff0c40zeL0Hhev3vygzZVaOFkVkWjYhMkA3BZgG8dj6Erp_MleU4jFzIyfag3TYRcHjVgPuTdUaSviUQgjoTD1HKuZtPGXbG5RRUMpXVU-6LJ4nnQQykVRggLmXPhd_iQoD0CvXBF4/s200/017.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not sure what I'm thinking but I'm<br />obviously very pleased with myself</td></tr>
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If this is what moving house does to me, it needs to be my
last move for a while. This will be my fifth house since February 2010 and I need it to stop now. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRy_iiVKD6mIMGlMSynnsIjl-g_kbbr8FiIQ770awNEN4atgLW7ddaYOepa6g2FvkSuYoAaOxRI9yXolJjfifljTSljpjFejEnEG1dVOfwCoY6BbwwKx25wFiTXXTGWgMm3DZ9bHw3hzw/s1600/026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRy_iiVKD6mIMGlMSynnsIjl-g_kbbr8FiIQ770awNEN4atgLW7ddaYOepa6g2FvkSuYoAaOxRI9yXolJjfifljTSljpjFejEnEG1dVOfwCoY6BbwwKx25wFiTXXTGWgMm3DZ9bHw3hzw/s320/026.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is it just me or is Alfie smiling?</td></tr>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-73197096726021958772012-09-24T20:38:00.001+02:002012-09-24T20:38:22.944+02:00Letters from the Netherlands: Sometimes life gets in the way<a href="http://private-letters-to-my-bestfriend.blogspot.com/2012/09/sometimes-life-gets-in-way.html?spref=bl">Letters from the Netherlands: Sometimes life gets in the way</a>: I’m not impressed with my blogging output lately, even Mr Sunshine has commented/moaned. The holidays are over and it’s time to get back ...Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-29926332716758249942012-09-22T11:03:00.000+02:002012-09-22T11:08:22.739+02:00Sometimes life gets in the way<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I’m not impressed with my blogging output lately, even Mr
Sunshine has commented/moaned.<br />
<br />
The holidays are over and it’s time to get back in my
routine.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=359760060658315030" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=359760060658315030" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=359760060658315030" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=359760060658315030" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=359760060658315030" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=359760060658315030" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=359760060658315030" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=359760060658315030" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=359760060658315030" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=359760060658315030" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>The thing is I can’t get into a routine because life just
keeps taking over. For example we’re still sticking to the Hairy Bikers Diet, 7
Kilos I’ve lost so far. Honestly it feels like a miracle, I'm stunned. I keep doing a
double take every time I walk past the mirror in the nude (too much information?). Where did the tummy go? I just read that back to myself and heard Arnold Schwarzenegger rusty catchphrase booming '<i><b>I'll be back'</b> . </i>The only downside to the Hairy Bikers diet is it takes time, buying fresh ingredients
and cooking everything from scratch is a challenge for the culinary handicapped
like me.<o:p></o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4Jgx_kFzoTJrNpeReMTS3_MyJTMRmKamoM934PolO5ULxEloMDJsEkC-kpNcNcAnPFB3b5GaQCbGD9T6o9IW5ex2Il91nwKAX6_RjeisQQidLfGs3t2VURZtXZZbJiRno6Bs4diLRTo/s1600/Arnold+Schwarzenegger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4Jgx_kFzoTJrNpeReMTS3_MyJTMRmKamoM934PolO5ULxEloMDJsEkC-kpNcNcAnPFB3b5GaQCbGD9T6o9IW5ex2Il91nwKAX6_RjeisQQidLfGs3t2VURZtXZZbJiRno6Bs4diLRTo/s1600/Arnold+Schwarzenegger.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I'll be back </i></td></tr>
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On top of my special needs manoeuvres in the kitchen, my new
Open University courses began this week. Last year I started a 60 point
introduction at level one, this week begins 120 points a level two taking it to
full time study (Creative Writing and Worlds of English). As usual whenever I
start something new, a little bit of OCD worms its way into my personality. So I’m
trying to limit my time I check the new forums to once an hour (it’s tough), I have pushed ahead to week 3 on the tasks and the beautiful crisp new
books are already littered with post it notes and highlighter marks.<br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglOzY4JwQOxNlNGLmUZVdjKKQJ9Ycs3W4gUPOvsVkfjXHoeO_Yt2SVhTjp8HORXLp-6hqLy5bM8S_dZwzZkpoG1LUuRgazHFCbWe8_3bkR8YOVPOaG2xpeDgZonS0e97Hn5n5Q6V7eay8/s1600/house+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglOzY4JwQOxNlNGLmUZVdjKKQJ9Ycs3W4gUPOvsVkfjXHoeO_Yt2SVhTjp8HORXLp-6hqLy5bM8S_dZwzZkpoG1LUuRgazHFCbWe8_3bkR8YOVPOaG2xpeDgZonS0e97Hn5n5Q6V7eay8/s320/house+1.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perfect</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is one more thing I’ve been getting a little bit OCD
about. Do you know the feeling when you want something to happen, something so good that it must be too good to be true, and something you’re scared to talk about in case it gets
jinxes. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiouHRHzGh0oHaBf5ZUepOFU6qHEztn0-L6TZFMYQOoV32UnhGHxRt8y9IjEXa2w8UBii83jgxaLIQ48z_sCKguQzeXOiBDteGqcQbdNb6s3ruvsDt2eFVAk6Up0jPbEkaE8xmv7S_3jUE/s1600/house+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiouHRHzGh0oHaBf5ZUepOFU6qHEztn0-L6TZFMYQOoV32UnhGHxRt8y9IjEXa2w8UBii83jgxaLIQ48z_sCKguQzeXOiBDteGqcQbdNb6s3ruvsDt2eFVAk6Up0jPbEkaE8xmv7S_3jUE/s320/house+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty garden?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Well, last week we made an offer on a house. It’s the second house
we've made an offer on, our makelaar Lennert (Special adviser for expats too
stupid to understand Dutch after a year) said there was a reason we didn’t get
the first house. He was right because ten days later our dream house turned up.
The first day it went on the market 51 people rang for viewings, I was the
eighth caller. By the time we viewed the house at 2pm the next day they already had three offers.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So what was so special about this house: the kitchen is
badly designed, the garden full of dilapidated buildings topped with asbestos,
the top floor is a death trap with a coffin sized hole that drops eight feet to
the next floor.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDHb37pgKHbUVChM9zbkaUOxt-43AJ4D7ovwBCAkSZp38laiY_k-26adS-Hp4m4NaiyJ7LzZcuPEByHggfzRUY2SMnvhxLXv4nIyxF7CU8_aTvlYEwVmBiiP4W6aXeKlyPxlLqlWgOijQ/s1600/house+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDHb37pgKHbUVChM9zbkaUOxt-43AJ4D7ovwBCAkSZp38laiY_k-26adS-Hp4m4NaiyJ7LzZcuPEByHggfzRUY2SMnvhxLXv4nIyxF7CU8_aTvlYEwVmBiiP4W6aXeKlyPxlLqlWgOijQ/s320/house+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Asbestos filled rotting outhouse</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It’s perfect and it’s cheap! <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t care about badly designed kitchens as long as I have
one, we can work on the garden and turn it into an Alfie friendly paradise. The
death trip is a bit of an issue though but I’m trying not to think about that.<o:p></o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3NJSAw_J7XXF2qLqWFtH5wF7EEfBz4Ac4zP7guWwzMMNwsAkhWLlUT1RIYedAFafeTKqCMXmdh_0Go1k6KYUaruCWqWduNKm650k7sJmu6TCZ6_sIGjUodwq_hJ9b0k46Eva6qFDbkh0/s1600/house+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3NJSAw_J7XXF2qLqWFtH5wF7EEfBz4Ac4zP7guWwzMMNwsAkhWLlUT1RIYedAFafeTKqCMXmdh_0Go1k6KYUaruCWqWduNKm650k7sJmu6TCZ6_sIGjUodwq_hJ9b0k46Eva6qFDbkh0/s320/house+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's me in the corner, wondering how to open the oven that crammed in to the triangular kitchen.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, the thing I’m afraid to whisper is – they accepted our
offer! <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been through it building inspection already and passed
despite a touch of woodworm in the cellar. As I write this I’m waiting for an
email to say we got the mortgage and then if everything falls into place we’ll
have the house by the 12<sup>th</sup> of October.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
So life is exciting, busy and every so very often getting in the
way.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9VPMt234_b6uDYABBsM3cPocrrwGdpT0YPUvIl_d6sACc5W1rAy0pj_g863f1xsoA2eINsANVisICeovbtDdWmbFtez2XV-QRtFnZU8vMEcUqkha07-FPegBFfQuR1ZBGnHx9zBJ8014/s1600/house+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9VPMt234_b6uDYABBsM3cPocrrwGdpT0YPUvIl_d6sACc5W1rAy0pj_g863f1xsoA2eINsANVisICeovbtDdWmbFtez2XV-QRtFnZU8vMEcUqkha07-FPegBFfQuR1ZBGnHx9zBJ8014/s320/house+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wasn't kidding about the coffin shaped death trap</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
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Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359760060658315030.post-4961967234054167192012-09-11T05:20:00.001+02:002012-09-11T05:20:44.011+02:00Letters from the Netherlands: The Hairy Dieters Cook Book.<a href="http://private-letters-to-my-bestfriend.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-hairy-dieters-cook-book.html?spref=bl">Letters from the Netherlands: The Hairy Dieters Cook Book.</a>: I think Si and Dave would look right dandy wearing these. In praise of the Hairy Bikers. Now some of you might think a cook book, a...Tracey Chalmershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10422112561804877205noreply@blogger.com0