Tuesday, 28 February 2012


Te huur/te koop voor een overdreven hoge prijs aangeboden een belachelijk krap appartement met twee hokken die slaapkamers moeten voorstellen.

Entree vanaf een stoffige drukke straat, smalle gang waar geen twee personen elkaar kunnen passeren, kast met wasmachine (tevens toilet), donkere naar sigarettenrook stinkende woon/eetkamer met openslaande deuren naar een van alle kanten dichtgemetseld binnenplaatje, zwaar gedateerde keuken met wat inbouwapparatuur die zeker aan vervanging toe is, eerste privacyloze slaapkamer doorlopend naar de tweede slaapkamer (even privacyloos en wegens afmetingen bijzonder onpraktisch), een afschuwelijk gedecoreerde badkamer met nutteloze dubbele wastafel, een krap bad en geen douche.

De makelaar die als eerste een soortgelijke tekst op Funda of Pararius plaatst, krijgt van mij een fles wijn. En ik kom zeker bezichtigen!

Julia Stone - This Love

Wednesday, 22 February 2012


The tree is gone! Yes, THE tree! My neighbours have finally gotten rid of the big evil oak that stole all the sun from my South facing garden.

For the past three summers I was fighting to get things growing in my garden. All I had was a little mint, loads of weeds and a little field of wild strawberries. The latter require no direct light. Few days ago some men came and took the oak down branch by branch. No shadow anymore. No falling leaves. No acorns. No doves. Welcome sunshine!

Oh yes I have plans for the garden. At last there will be a grass field. I will plant clematis, passionflowers, sweet peas and wisterias. There will be lilies of the valley, tulips, calendula, bluebells, asters, forget-me-nots, primrose, hyacinth, anemone, pansies, snowdrops, crocus, daffodils, gladioli, camomile, daisies, mallows, marigold, morning glory, sunflowers, violets, lilies and lavender. I will grow dill, radish, tomatoes, cucumber, zucchini, squash, basil, rosemary, oregano, tarragon, parsley, pumpkin, peppers, artichoke, leek, lettuce and physalis. And of course no garden without melons, blueberries, watermelons, strawberries, raspberries, red currant and seven sorts of mint.

Can we skip March this year? Please?

Tuesday, 7 February 2012

Social pressure

It’s evil. It messes with your mind. It does with mine. And it makes me do things that I certainly don’t want to do. And I thought I was all so smart and independent!

You see, I wash my hands when they are dirty. When I say ‘dirty’ I mean I fell off my bike and landed on my hands in a puddle of muddy rainwater. My hands are dirty after I ate a large portion of French fries with mayonnaise and onions using my hands only. They can be dirty after I worked in the garden or cleaned up my cat’s vomit. You know – dirty.

It so happens that I live in a sterile country. Nothing is ever dirty here. So I don’t wash my fruits and vegetables. And I don’t wash my hands after each visit to the toilet. Washing hands when they are not dirty just doesn’t make sense to me. Please don’t try to convince me it does. Because that doesn’t make sense either. Besides, in the winter my hands become dry and painful if I wash them too often.

So far my opinion on hands washing. So far my independent behaviour following that opinion. Because as soon as I find myself in a public toilet and there are people who can actually see me not washing my hands... Guess what I do? Dirty or not, I wash my hands. Because everybody washes their hands. And I am afraid that they will condemn me for being filthy and unhealthy.

And now I wonder: how different would my life be if there was no social pressure at all? And how many people wash their hands because they think I will condemn them? 

Friday, 3 February 2012


At eight in the morning, before leaving to work, I look in the mirror. “Not bad! Not bad at all!” That’s what I think then. It doesn’t happen every day, but yesterday morning I thought just that: “Not bad!” My face has a healthy colour, no spots, the hair emphasizes the oval of my face, eyes bright. This makes for a good, relaxed start of the day.

I travel, work, live my day with this relaxed self-confidence. Of course I see myself in the mirror during the day, but just briefly, passing by. At four in the afternoon I take a longer look at myself. “OMG!” That’s what I think then. My skin looks pale, I have bags under my eyes, the hair hangs down helplessly and my eyes mumble something like ‘tired’. This makes for a long, exhausting way home and an uninspiring evening.

How can such a metamorphosis happen in just eight hours?

Agnes Obel - Falling, Catching

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