The Singapore Sling

This is NOT a Valentine's Story...

2012-02-14T09:50:00.002+01:00

Every now and then one of my colleagues, Jan, travels abroad and invariably something so awful it's funny happens to him. Fortunately, he is happy to share his experiences and I'm pleased to be able to give you his latest adventure. Enjoy!

Hi lovely colleagues,

Just back in the office, want to thank you all for the really nice time I had in Shanghai, it was nice to see you all again. Now suffering jet lag. Let me tell u a small story that happened to me, I want to share something...

The flights were all on time, no delay and all went smoothly, unbelievable!!!

But one day in Xian I maybe ate something wrong but at the end of the day I told Gert and Hui, I need to go to my hotel and go to toilet.

I jumped in a taxi and had to cross my legs hehe, soon as I arrived in the hotel I ran to my toilet and.....well u know sat there and the smell was really not like roses. I flushed the toilet and then the story began. My toilet could not handle it and water didn't flush away, oh my god....... I was thinking what to do, then called the house keeper that I had trouble with my toilet and needed someone to fix it.

I felt sooo ashamed when looking at my cute toilet but anyway I need to go again but couldn't go otherwise it will flood on the floor, so after 10 minutes I called again, told them my room number, (I think it was not even not needed they only had to follow the smell hehe) then after another ten minutes they sent the cleaning lady. I pointed her at the toilet, she ran away and said she will send a guy to fix it.

I couldn't wait that long but had to. I still didnt felt well and then Gert called me and asked how I felt, during our talk I could feel that I had to throw up too and that stupid toilet was still not fixed, what a hell. After I finished the call I had to run to the bathroom again and the only choice I had was to throw up in hand basin. After I did I felt better again but then my sink was blocked too, so now toilet and sink were broken, I really felt sooo dirty.

Then I put my hand in the sink and took out the thow up stuff because I didn't want the house keeper to see I damaged both toilet and sink. It was disgusting but I had to do it. Put everything in a plastic bag just before he rang the bell of my room, I scooped the last bits out of the sink with my hands and then I let him in.

He saw the mess in the toilet and started to unblock the toilet...he did it in such a fast time hehe, I think because he also didnt liked the smell of my roses. But at least he fixed it and he ran away from my room,

I closed the door, even locked it and finally could sit on my toilet again, I stayed there for maybe 10 minutes and then felt better again. After taking a shower I jumped into bed and the next day I felt much better again.

The next day I saw the Terra Cota warriors and I felt happy for them that they are just terracotta clay and don't have stomach problems hahahaha.

Ok dear colleagues , welcome back in the dragon year

Bye for now,

Jan

...Where I Don't Complain About The Cold

2012-02-08T11:36:00.001+01:00

No need to use the bridges over the canals...we can just walk over!

Anyone who has read this blog for a while will know that I'm not a fan of the winter. Give me heat, humidity, the sweaty damp extremes of the tropics any time...just don't give me winter. Problem with that obviously is that we live in Europe where the winters are getting more extreme and if climate change reaches its seemingly inevitable conclusion, we will eventually be chipping ice off the windscreens from November until March every year.

However...we didn't really have a winter over here until about 10 days ago. The weather wizards had predicted this would be a "severe winter" with temperatures dropping to an estimated -23C!! Bah humbug I declared, and then bugger me if Mother Nature didn't open that big fridge door in the sky, with the mercury dropping to a record low of -22.9C a couple of days ago!! It's never been so cold in the Netherlands before. The good news is that we only had one day of very light snow, meaning the outdoor ice skating rinks are enjoying perfect conditions. Dry and extremely cold, the ice is dense and uniform and ideal for skating. We bought the kids some new skates (they outgrow them every year) and even Holger decided to treat himself to a decent pair.

Beautiful blue skies and sunshine have tempted them out onto the ice almost every day, and we're lucky in that the rink is right behind our house. I tell you, nothing makes kids fall asleep more quickly at night than racing home from a busy day at school to skate in the freezing cold for 2 hours, followed by dinner and a hot bath.

And me? Well, despite the fact that it looks lovely outside the temp is regularly -10 to -15 in the mornings and only moves up a couple of degrees throughout the day, so I'm hiding inside as much as possible. Tomorrow I'm taking my slippers to work because the floors in the office are so cold that by lunch time I'm numb from the waist down, and gusts of wind force blasts of icy air in through the wall sockets!! But I am definitely not complaining.

Tunnel through the centre of the earth...

2012-02-06T14:08:00.002+01:00

This is a very cool app that allows you to tunnel through the earth and see where you would come out. If I tunnel through from where I live in Holland, I come out just a little to the east of New Zealand! So it would save me time if I could just go through the centre of the earth. A little hot though.

Enviro-what??

2012-01-24T11:20:00.001+01:00

While Germany is patting itself on the back for its environmental and energy policies, it's worthwhile taking a moment to add up the costs both financially AND to the climate change issue. I can't help but wonder if its sustainable at all. Keep reading until you reach the bit about the extra 370 MILLION tons of CO2 they'll be belching out.

Eye-watering cost of renewable revolution

23 January 2012

Germany's energy policy could cost some €1.4 trillion ($1.8 trillion) by 2030 even before the cost of the nuclear shutdown is taken into account.

Germany is to forego 14 years of
low-cabon generation from Neckarwestheim 2 (Image: EnBW)

The figures were announced by the head of Siemens' energy division, Michael Suess, at the Energiewirtschaft 2012 event organised by the Handelsblatt newspaper in Berlin and later confirmed to World Nuclear Newsby Siemens spokesmen.

For several years the country has planned an 'energy revolution' designed to tackle climate change and establish renewable technologies at the centre of a new power supply system. Two years before nuclear generation ends in 2022, Germany wants to have cut greenhouse gas emissions by 40%, doubled renewables to supply 35% of electricity and cut primary energy consumption by 20%.

Siemens' calculation of the total investment in generation and transmission to do this came to €1.418 trillion ($1.848 trillion) in the period from 2011 to 2030.

However, Germany's ambition were dramatically increased on the heels of the Fukushima accident in Japan by the shutdown, almost overnight, of eight nuclear power reactors. The operating lives of the remaining nine reactors were also reduced from the terms of a 2010 agreement, costing some as many as 14 years.

Siemens' costing of the nuclear shutdown was vague, ranging from €11 billion to €252 billion ($14 billion to $328 billion). But this comes on top of the general cost of the energy policy and takes the total to €1.670 trillion ($2.177 trillion). This incredible overall figure is equal to 68% of German GDP in 2010, or slightly more than the value of the Brazilian economy - the fifth biggest in the world that year.

In September 2011 research from the KfW Bankegruppe, which supports domestic development, put the total investment to achieve German policy goals at €239-262 billion ($321-352 billion) to 2020.

Two immediate effects of the nuclear shutdown have been a rush to finish building 10 GWe of fossil power plants, and short-term reliance on an oil-fuelled plant in Austria. A Deutsche Bank report estimated that the carbon dioxide increase from the permanent shutdown of the seven reactors and the early phase-out of the rest would result in the emission of 370 million tonnes of carbon dioxide by 2020. Before the shutdown, Germany's nuclear sector had been the biggest source of low-carbon power.

Source: www.World-Nuclear-News.org

Oh.My.God........Seriously.

2011-12-04T23:37:00.001+01:00

Hubby has a good friend who is a Loading Master/Mooring Master in Equatorial Guinea. For those of you (like me) who are geographically challenged, that's off the west coast of Africa. He enjoys his job but it's a challenging region, to say the least. On the equator, the ratio of humans to nasty creatures you'd really rather not meet is seriously in favour of the reptiles/insects/parasites/bacteria. Every now and again he sends us a photo of something truly...unique...and this is the latest. His (edited to prevent any akwardness) description follows:

"Hi Holger, thought you might want to show this to the kids at home.It was taken 1st thing in the morning in *** (1 mile from here) a couple of weeks ago. Its not a wind-up."

All I can add is that every time I look at this photo I get goose-bumps and feel slightly nausuous. Frankly, it's made me think the cockroaches in Singapore weren't so bad after all.

Petrolheads

2011-11-13T11:09:00.001+01:00

I was going through the memory card in my camera when I came across some photos of Niels birthday, waaaaaay back in May, and realized I'd never posted these. Turning 10 was a big thing for him and he wanted to do somehting a bit more adventurous than in previous years, so we booked a carting track nearby and took along a few friends. We weren't sure how it would go, but they had a blast.

Fortunatley none of them had done it before so they were all at the same level. Driving there in the car the boys were so excited we were wishing we had earmuffs of our own. Details of just how fast and daring they were going to be and the types of stunts they were going to do became more elaborate with each passing minute. So it was pretty funny to see them each doing their first couple of laps, not daring to go faster than walking speed and looking for all the world like a bunch of grannies on the track!

However they soon got the hang of it and were zipping about. They stopped for a break to scoff down some lunch before heading back out to the track again.

By the time we left they were all total converts to carting and unanimously declared it to be the best birthday party they'd ever had!

Because We Can

2011-10-26T10:37:00.000+02:00

Kan u not zee, I iz buzy?

One of the fun things about bunnies is that they are constantly busy, and no matter how domesticated you may think your Flopsy or Coco or Rocco or Dumpling may be, the heart of a wild beast pumps beneath that cute fluffy coat. Spring and Autumn are the busiest seasons as the rabbits instincts kick in to dig a burrow for breeding for the former, or a shelter during the winter in the later. Punky Muffin is a particularly fanatic digger a tthis time of year, takes her projects very seriously. Her first autumn excavation occurred about a month ago; I came home for work to find her crashed out exhausted and filthy on the lawn with what could only be descirbed as a suspiciously satisfied look on her snout. Turns out she'd been digging a tunnel in the sand pit (good bunny, that's why it's there). However after a couple of days of tunneling the tunnel became too deep and long so I filled it in; I didn't want it collapsing on her, or have her get so far down I couldn't get her out again.

Not to be thwarted, she waited until her aching muscles were back to normal then took to one of the borders. It's fascinating thing to watch a rabbit burrowing; this is excavation as an art form, not just digging out dirt in some wild frenzy like, say, a dog would. Being prey animals rabbits seems to hae a built-in instinct to conceal their work. Not a successful strategy in a garden, true, but in the wild it must come in handy.

First the hole is started; frantic digging wth the front feet, and when a small pile has built up between the front legs its flicked out through the back legs to create a long pile behind. Once this pile has started to build up the bunny turns round and uses its front legs to push the pile out flat, spreading the loose dirt in a large fan shape. It repeats this process and keeps spreading the loose dirt out in an increasing radius so the resulting build up is not more than about 3-5 cm deep. I guess in the wild this would make it harder to spot, and it would quickly wash away in rain, disappear into grass and leaves, etc.

Pushing the dirt away with her front feet

As the amount of loose dirt increases, she will alternatively pull dirt towards the edge of the pile with her front feet, and then turn around and push it away and flatten it. Finally, the whole thnig is smoothed down by hopping over it, with those big back feet doing a perfect job.

It's a time consumering process, but if every there was therapy for a rabbit, this must be it. The only problelm is figuring out when it's time to go and piss her off by filling it all in again. Trouble is, I know she'll just go and do the same thing somewhere else until winter arrives...

By the way, one bunny is flat out doing all the work while the other spent most of the time fussing with his hair and 'supervising' - not much equality in the rabbit world!

Magical Cameleon Bunny

2011-10-12T14:23:00.000+02:00

Dumpling has surprised us all by changing colour, seemingly overnight. When he arrived he looked like a scruffy mix of breeds that had been splashed with white paint. Now he's grown his winter coat, he looks like...a scruffy mix of breeds without the white paint. His formerly short curly white bits are now long soft grey bits, and he's more uniformly camouflage colour than before.

No need to guess who taught him this trick...

Guilty as charged! Punky Muffin demonstrates her startled "guilty as hell" look.

Who, me??

Normandy 4

2011-10-08T11:58:00.000+02:00

I've just realised I never showed you the photos of the amazing house we stayed in during our second week in Normandy. La Chapelle is a 15th century chapel which was lovingly restored about 5 years ago. I'ts actually the former chapel and priests living accomodation together; the door separating them has been removed.

The original leadlight window is still in place, and there are niches evenly spaced down the walls of the living room - the former chapel- which once would have held statues. Above you can see hubby at the massive wooden table which seats 10 people, checking emails in quite a profound contrast to the ancient surroundings. The stone walls were incredibly thick and that, combined with the stone floor, kept the whole place quite cool.

One of the most amazing features was the vaulted wooden ceiling which went throughout the length of the building. It's obviously been replaced when the restoration was done but they certainly made a great job of it. Even the staircase leading to the upstairs - there are four bedrooms, sleeping 9 people with 2 bathrooms - was handcrafted and held together with wooden pegs rather than nails in keeping with the original style. Despite the age of the building it was fitted out with all the modern equipment you could want, although it was the massive garden the kids loved most. So if you're looking for a fab place to stay in Normandy, we can recommend La Chapelle.

Scouting About

2011-10-05T11:54:00.001+02:00

There have been a few changes with our wee scouts recently. Both boys have moved up to the next group: Carl to the Welps (ages 7-9), and Niels to the Land Scouts (10-14). This involved of course a change of uniform, the chaotic ceremonial changeover involving the entire combined Scout group, then the official 'proper' ceremony for each of the chapters where the boys have to say the Scout code and promise to obey the Scout law in front of their leaders and own personal group. All very important stuff. Oh, and don't forget the bit where Mum gets to sew 10 badges by hand onto the new shirts. Have I ever blogged about my sewing skills before? Well, there's a reason for that: I don't have any. Suffice to say there may not have been sweat or tears involved but blood was definitely shed. The top photo shows Niels, pre-ceremony, demonstrating his new salute (3 fingers for Landscouts!) and if ever you needed proof he is growing up, this is surely it.

Niels managed to learn his new Scout code by heart, then promptly forgot most of it in the heat of the moment. The leaders are all quite young and is was amusing for the parents and grandparents gathered around to watch them going red-faced and looking flustered trying to remember the code in front of an audience as well. Above he is shaking hands with the leader of the gruop - Scouts always shake with the left hand as it's closest to the heart (bet you didn't know that!).

Carl was quite nervous about his ceremony, and forgetting that there were 7 kids moving up to the Welps, I saw him looking stricken when 3 boys were called forward to go through the ceremony and he thought he'd been forgotten. We quickly whispered in his ear that he would be one of the next, and his lip stopped trembling and he waited, at full attention with his back ram-rod straight, in tense anticipation until his name was called. After it was all over he allowed him self a little smile, befitting a boy who is "not small any more but medium sized" to quote him.

I've included this last photo of Carl getting his new shirt before the ceremoney as it shows the one essential item apparently no Scout can do without. Never mind the shirt, the tie, the friendship knot or the badges; a grubby pair of blue jeans is apparently an absolute must, and our little Scouts are able to turn a perfectly clean pair of jeans, laundered especially for the ceremony, into something looking like this in the 30 seconds it takes to walk from the car to the club house. Amazing.

Places I'm Glad I Don't Live #1...

2011-09-06T10:52:00.000+02:00

....anywhere near where this monster crocodile was found! Captured in the Philippines, this enormous salt water crocodile weighs an amazing 1075 kilos and measures 6.4 meters in length. So far it's being hailed as the biggest croc ever caught, and almost a meter longer than the previous Guinness World Records holder 'Cassius' from Australia. See that little guy behind him? That's a fully grown man. Looks like you'd fit a few of him inside this beasty.

Well Hello........Dumpling!

2011-09-01T08:00:00.003+02:00

As you know, a couple of weeks ago our beloved rabbit Rocco died, passing away in his sleep at the grand old age of 10.5 years. When you have pets you know one day they'll be gone, but with rabbits you also have to accept that you'll have to find a new mate for the remaining bunny fairly quickly too. Rabbits are very social animals who shouldn't be kept alone, and the day after Rocco died we could see that Punky Muffin was very nervous and unsure of the changed situation. I prepared for a trip to Eindhoven to the rabbit rescue centre run by my friend Liesbeth, Opvang Franky, to find a suitable match for our widowed Madam P Muffin.
Fate, however, intervened.
Rocco died on a Wedneday, we buried him in the garden with tears and flowers on Thursday, and on Friday a new rabbit appeared in the garden. You could call it coincidence, or serendipity, or karma...we decided to call it Dumpling.

This little guy is a young buck who was in all likelihood dumped by his owners because they couldn't be bothered arranging for someone to look after him while they went on holiday. One of the next door neighbours kids found him in front of their house, frightened, hungry, thirsty and wondering how he'd gone from family pet to tossed away garbage in the space of a day. Assuming it was one of ours, the neighbour plopped him into the garden to the surprise of Punky Muffin who thankfully decided to make friends rather than attack him. I made enquiries at the vet, local petshop, and posted him on the website for lost and found animals in Holland called Amivedi, but no-one was looking for him. A wee dumped man, Dumpling seemed the perfect name. It's also what Liesbeth calls the many 'second hand' rabbits she rescues and re-homes every year, the cast-offs of a society that thinks animals are a disposal item to be used for our entertainment until boredom sets in then thrown away under the guise of being 'set free'. Domestic rabbits can NOT survive in the wild; they are very easy targets for cats, dogs, mean kids, cars, disease, starvation and dehydration. Even if they survive those things there is a good chance the local wild rabbits will attack and kill them to defend their territory and as for the freezing snowy winters....a definite death sentence.
Anyway, as Niels pointed out, we were lucky to have this little guy turn up, and he was extremely lucky to have been rescued in time, so his full name is Lucky Dumpling. Personlly I think it sounds like something you'd order with a side of fried rice from the local Chinese takeway, but he did have a point, so Lucky Dumpling it is. He's settled in nicely and can be seen - now minus his balls - racing around the garden all day and generally creating havoc. He's a very strange mix of colours and textures and clearly there wasn't too much planned parenting going on when he was bred. It looks like he's been held under his armpits and dunked into a glass of milk, and his fur is a mixture of long, short and in-between lengths. However we of course think he's perfect.

Normandy 3

2011-08-29T08:00:00.002+02:00

...where was I...oh yes, locking up the kids. Well of course they weren't really locked up, these see-through boxes are part of a very cool attraction at Alligator Bay, a reptile park with tunnels for the kids which wind through several of the snake exhibits. Look out points allow the kids to pop up in the midst of an enclosure full of pythons, or anacondas, etc, which was quite exciting and just scarey enough to have them screaming and squealing in only partly-faked terror. When do we we become to old to scream just for the fun of it anyway? I'm sure the power of a good yell is vastly under-rated and to be honest there are often moments in my day - usually when a deadline is rapidly approaching - when a blood curdling scream would actualy be the most appropriate response.

Apart from snakes Alligator Bay had hundreds of retiles, from lizards to turtles to (obviously) alligators. And while they are all quietly impressive, I hadn't realized how much they poop! And stink! I mean these giant tortoises are all very nice and all but the kids were like "oh my God look how big that poo is!" It really made me wonder why people would want to keep reptiles as pets. Quite apart from the bite-your-leg-off factor of course.

Well enough reptiles, we were about to leave the hamlet of Ver behind and head northwest to our second holiday house...a 15th century chapel which was recently lovingly converted into the most amazing house, in the hamlet of Cerney, which is in the middle of nowhere, about an hour's drive from Rouen. More about that shortly!

A Surprising Level of Self-Awarenesss

2011-08-26T09:33:00.001+02:00

Carl and I were in the car the other day with our very good friends who are in their sixties. There was a short lull in the conversation and Carl leaned forward and asked "You don't have your own kids, do you?"
"No, we never did" was the answer.
"Well why not?" asked Carl.
"We wanted to but we went to the doctor when we were younger and he told us we couldn't"
There was a long pause while Carl thought about this, and we could almost hear the cogs turning in his head. Finally he leaned forward again and said in a low voice:
"I bet you're glad now".

Definitely a classic Carl moment!

Normandy 2

2011-08-13T19:14:00.000+02:00

There are a lot of 'must sees' in Normandy and pretty much near the top of everybody's list is surely Mont Saint Michel. A rocky tidal island about 1 km off the coast (more like mud flats really), the monastry was first built in the 8th century and it's been a strategic spot for even longer. It's an impressive and beautiful site, with every rock having been built upon. From a distance it rises elegantly from the polders and tidal flats surrounding it, seeming to float magically in the bay.

On closer inspection however the illusion was somewhat shattered by the sheer numbers of tourists clambering over the Mount. The first hint was the queue for the carpark, which started about 5 km from the actual site. Have paid our 6 euros to park, we joined the swelling column of foot traffic making its way across the causeway to the Mount itself. Unfortunately the Weather Gods weren't impressed by the effort we'd all gone to just to get this far and as squalls of wind blasted us, driving rain horizontally into our faces and whipping hoods and jackets into a flapping frenzy that sounded as if we accompanied by a flock of hysterical seagulls all taking off at once, I had time to reflect on the joys of mass tourism. Yes, we knew Normandy would be busy in July, and yes we were trying to be tolerant, but my God! The people! Finally we arrived at the impressive entrance port, just in time for the rain to stop, and the wind was silenced by the high stone walls all around.

We then joined the throng of people shuffling forwards, in some places shoulder to shoulder, as we headed up the stone-paved paths (there are no roads of course). I admit I was a little disappointed to see that the paths were lined, chocka-blok, with souvenir shops. Signs in Japanese, German, Enlgish and 20 other languages tried to entice tourists in to buy postcards, place mats, calendars and t-towels all printed with pictures of the Mount. Other popular items seemed to be nougat, little wooden boats, and replicas of every possible type of ancient weapon. Predictably the boys were entranced by the swords, muskets, battle axes and morning stars and reluctantly agreed to keep shuffling rather than get side tracked.

So it was nice to see Mount St Michel but if you're planning a trip I suggest you go in spring or late autumn to enjoy the experience more. To the credit of the French, none fo the shops had neon signs and none were visible above the walls/ramparts from a distance. It was only once you entered that the tourist trade took over. Apparently it's also very beautiful at night but once we'd clambered down to the bottom we were pretty intent on just getting away from the crowds.

However nearby (literally about 4 km) was a place the kids were really keen to see; Alligator Bay. I know, coming all the way to France and then visiting a reptile park is kind of odd, but it looked very cool and we weren't disappointed. Plus it was an opportunity to lock up the kids....

...but more about that next time!

Normandy 1

2011-08-06T14:33:00.000+02:00

Our trip to Normandy, France, started as it was to pretty much continue; with a visit to an historic site. The first day we drove as far as Les Andelys, on the river Seine. Ít's about mid-way between Paris and where the river finally meets the sea, on a strategic bend which allows sweeping views over miles of the surrounding countryside. This is where Richard Lionheart built his magnificant castle, Chateau Gaillard. Niels has wanted to visit this for years.

Today there's not much more half remaining as it was intentionally demolished once the French had wrested it from the control of Richard's son and heir after a two year seige. Still, what's left is still very cool to visit and the boys enjoyed prowling around the dungeon:

...and part of the wall has been restored so you can see how it would have originally looked, with a striped pattern made by two different types of stone. We stayed the night in a very cool family-owned hotel in the town, with Dad working as chef in the kitchen, Mum taking care of running things and the daughter serving meals in the dining room. I highly recommend the Hotel Paris to anyone passing through the area, and if you stay, make sure to eat dinner there too! One fo the best things we discovered in France is tht when you go out for a meal as a family, there is not a separate kids meal comprised of fries and some other deep fried junk food. Instead, for the very modest price of 7 - 9 euros they just order off the regular menu and are served small portions. So Niels enjoyed two types of terrine followed by duck, while Carl scoffed down langoustines followed by delicious monk fish fillets in a delicate sauce. Heavenly! We drank their wine for them of course!

The next day we braved the traffic around Caen and (eventually) found the tiny settlement of Ver, near to Gavray, in southwestern Normandy. This was home for the next week as we settled into a converted barn and planned our day trips to nearby sites.

One of the first was to Utah Beach, one of the famous beaches from the D-Day landings. Standing on the damp sand, the wind whistling around us and watching Carl and Holger trying to get a kite in the air, it was hard to imagine what it must have been like in the early morning of 6 June 1944 when thousands and thousands of allied troops struggled to come ashore and find shelter from the hail of gunfire and shells pouring down on the from the German positions. Today it's a peace stretch of beach but then it must have seemed like hell on earth.

There is an impressive memorial museum dedicated to the men who died here - largely American - and dotted along the shore are reminders of once took place.

While in the area we also visited the Azeville Battery, a huge network of underground tunnels topped with canon emplacements which was once home to 170 Germans. It's hard to imagine living underground like a mole in those conditions but with a clear view out to sea in the directly of the UK, it was a hugely strategic place.

It was a sobering day and a reminder that we should never take the freedoms we enjoy every day for granted. Tomorrow we decided, we'd do something a bit more cheerful, and hope for sunshine! More about that next time.

Goodbye Rocco, you will be missed

2011-08-04T22:51:00.003+02:00

CLICK ON THE PHOTO TO ENLARGE

Last night our dear bunny Rocco died, having spent ten and a half fluffy, floppy eared and mostly fun-filled days on earth. The last few days he seemed to be a little tired, content to sit in the shade or stretch out in his favourite spot in the hutch and watch the summer showers fall. I'd booked him for a check-up with his vet today, but she didn't get the chance to say goodbye to her "turbo bunny". After munching away on a piece of apple at dinner time, I went to close up the hutch at around 8pm and found him stretched out in the same place I'd left him, never to snore again.

Never again will we have a chuckle at Rocco having fallen asleep on duty, 'guarding' the hutch and his precious Punky Muffin;

And she is learning to adapt to life without her dirty old man, still up for it despite being the equivalent of about 110 in human years, I guess. In recent months his efforts didn't amount to much more than a front leg - or sometimes even just an ear - draped over her but in his mind he was still the undisputed stud of the garden;

After all, they have been together for a couple of years and while she wasn't his first love, she was his last.

He was often to be seen trailing after the kids, having figured our early on that small children often leave a trail of tasty treats, and he even managed to steal a peanut butter sandwich from Carl once;

However his main achievement was stealing our hearts, and there are many people who will miss him.

Goodbye old friend. You were much loved.

Back from Normandy...

2011-07-30T22:26:00.000+02:00

...and the second load of washing is in the machine. It's been a fun couple of weeks with lots to do...the first week we stayed in western Normandy and the theme was pretty focused on WWII and the D-Day landings, with a bit of early British history thrown in re. Richard Lionheart during a visit to Chateau Galliard. More later, including photos, but first it's a well earned gin and tonic before hitting my beloved bed, sorely missed this past fortnight.

Running in circles

2011-07-13T15:35:00.001+02:00

You know the problem with taking a holiday is that enormous amount of work you have to finish beforehand to clear a couple of weeks free. Hence you've heard nothing from me in a while. That and the fact that life has been so very very busy with the end of the school year, camps, work, etc.....
Last week Niels had his annual Scouting camp, a week-long adventure with a group of 20+ other kids. With a theme of Lord of the Rings, the kids were woken at 11pm on the second night by a grey-bearded Gandalf, who beseeched them to destroy the cursed rings in the lava lakes of Mordor. The Scout leaders who are in charge of his group really out-did themselves this time, with an imaginative, non-stop series of adventures that culmiinated in the kids tossing their rings into a fiery inferno after trekking by moonlight through the forest near Lunteren. Goodness knows what the locals thought, hopefully they are used to Scouts getting up to all sorts of nocturnal adventures.
I collected him - and an enormous pile of washing - after seven sunny fun filled days and brought him home to his first shower in days and a welcome nights sleep. It brings back fond memories of my childhood when I would spend a week in the summer holidays at Kiwi Ranch, a horse riding camp near Rotorua. I'm pretty sure it doesn't exist any more but I have fond memories of riding horses up and down the hills overlooking Lake Kawau, trekking the paths through the pine forest and riding through creeks. By the end of the camp all the kids would be gaining confidence in their riding and we would race to the paddock in the morning to grab the fiestiest horses because they were the most fun. It was a Christian camp and we endured a couple of hours of 'education' in the evenings. I would have endured a month of such brain washing if it meant I could have stayed to ride the horses during the day! I even convinced my Mum to try and buy one of the horses - a pretty mare called Tosca - but her owner couldn't bear to part with her.

The only steed Niels got to ride on his camp was his trusty bike, but he had just as much fun regardless.

The problem with apps...and why I love Apple

2011-06-22T09:21:00.002+02:00

In these days of booming technology, it seems our kids are learning how to use the latest computers and mobile devices faster than we can keep up. The danger is they can also find ways to bypass our security measures. We're all supposed to be super alert for instances of our innocent/ignorant family members becoming victims of the internet revolution,and my friends, I have discovered a new victim: the iChallenged husband. Before I undermine his credibility any further (and don't worry, I still love him to bits but he has taken at least a year off my life in the past week), I will offer a full explanation.
If you know me, you know I love Apple products. When I was an editor at Reed Business Information I reluctantly agreed to work with an Apple Mac next to my p.c. in order to directly edit magazine pages. Within a week...I was hooked. Apples are smarter, more logical, and just downright sexier than p.c.'s. My next love was my iPhone; it's getting a bit senior in years by now but still going strong and still awesome technology and just lovely to work with. Next step, obviously, was the iPad. I restrained myself throughout the iPad 1 hysteria but thankfully by the time iPad 2 came out hubby was also intrigued and one day wandered back into the house nonchalently after returning from Aberdeen and plopped something into my lap with a casual "here you go". It is a gorgeous piece of technology and I can't resist ~~stroking~~ it working on it every day.
If there's one thing that iPads are perfect for, it's playing games. You can download thousands of free games from the Apps (applications) Store online at iTunes. You have to have an account linked to a credit card for when you want to purchase items that cost real money, such as music etc, but the range of free products is awesome. The boys love to play the jet-fighter game where they're sitting the cockpit and 'fly' the plane through a stunningly real landscape by tilting the screen in every direction in their hands. Carl's favourite is 'Tiny Zoo' where you build your own zoo and spend 'credits' slowly built up over days to purchase and breed new animals. Although you can speed up the process by buying credits with real money, my policy is that games shouldn't cost cash so don't even ask.
Last Tuesday I was at work when the phone rang. "Hello, this is Jan from the fraud division of your bank. We are seeing suspicious activity on your credit card...are you using it at the moment?" Obviously not, it was safely tucked in my wallet beside me and hubby was at home, so clearly something fishy was going on. I wasn't too worried; the bank is responsible for fraud and I've been through this with my business credit card already; it was copied when I checked into a hotel in Brussels then used to purchase a truckload of things in Lithuania, of all places. About an hour later I was home and Carl raced up to me. "Look at my zoo, I've doubled the size and bought 20 magical creatures!!!" Alarm bells started ringing...I raced upstairs to hubby and asked with a sickening feeling of dread "honey...did you buy credits for Carl from iTunes?"
Of course not was the answer....but when Carl had shown him a screen on the iPad that demanded a password that "Mummy always fills in" his response? HE FILLED IN THE PASSWORD. He didn't realise it was for a real account with a real credit card attached.
This is the point where I'm going to stop giving a blow by blow account because it just got so bad, so quickly. Phone calls to the bank revealed it was our fault so tough shit, phone call to Apple led to the suggestion that I send an email to customer support. Yeah, right. We didn't know how much money Carl had spent except that it was "well over 100 euros".
I sent a desperate email to Apple and didn't expect any joy. The next morning I left for a business trip to France with a sickening feeling of dread in my stomach. For almost 24 hours I heard nothing. Finally, in the car with a colleague on the way back from Paris, an email from Apple. I've seen the terms and conditions. I know all transactions are final. I know Apple doesn't own the app that Carl spent the money in. Things looked grim. The opening sentences were all standard: Hello Joanne, my name is Judy, I'll be helping you with your enquiry..." blah blah blah. My colleague is sending worrying glances my way as I groan through the first paragraph. It continued: "I understand your awesome son downloaded a lot of credits in Tiny Zoo. Being a parent I understand your concerns..." WHAT? I hadn't expected that.

"Your sons total purchases are in excess of SIX HUNDRED AND FIFTY EIGHT EUROS".

Let's just revisit that figure: 658 euros.

I'm gonna say that again: 658 euros.

In less than 30 minutes. That's about 1400 New Zealand dollars.

...."I am pleased to say I have refunded the full amount to your credit card as this was an unintentional purchase...."

This is the point where my colleague thought I had seriously lost my mind. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, I couldn't believe that a massive company like Apple would be so HUMAN as to respond in this way. Let's just say it's reaffirmed my belief in human nature and the possibility for big business to have a big heart.
So thank you Apple, and thank you friendly support girl from iTunes. And let this be a lesson to all. When you choose your passwords it's obvious that your kids shouldn't know what they are: but under no circumstances, should you ever, ever tell them to your iChallenged husband.

Udderly Charming...Not

2011-05-26T13:21:00.000+02:00

I was putting Carl to bed the other night and as usual, on request, was lying down with him in the warm glow of his night light talking about the days' events. In order of importance according to Carl, the topics we covered were the kid who got in trouble for pooping on the floor of the gym changing room that morning (not him!), what we're doing in the summer holidays, who he played with today, etc. I was wearing a v-neck shirt which had pulled down a bit as I lay there so a bit of cleavage was showing and he looked down, pointed his finger and laughed ""Ha-ha, I can see your tits!"
Of course I didn't find this amusing so put him straight about how that (a) wasn't funny and (b) that we don't use that word. He reconsidered for a moment while I waited expectently for an apology and then said "All right...I can see your udder!"

I'm still not amused.

Here There Be Bunnies...

2011-05-18T11:56:00.000+02:00

After all that excitement I need some food!

This must be a bumper year for wild rabbits because we've never had so many bouncing around the neighbourhood. As long as we've lived here there has been a stable local population, and the little pile of bunny poo on our driveway stands testiment to the rubbit who most evenings sits there, presumably intrigued by the scent of our rabbits who by dark are safely locked up in the Bunny Bungalow.

However the dynamic has changed this spring; perhaps due to an increase in numbers the wild rabbits are becoming bolder, approaching our garden even during daylight hours, which has never happened before. It started a few weeks ago: I was putting Carl to bed when hubby came in and said: "I just walked out to the garage and found a wild rabbit in the hutch!" Initially I thought he was kidding; wild rabbits are (I thought) too shy of humans to ever come into the garden, let alone hop INTO a rabbit hutch right by our back door. But then I glanced out the second floor window down into the garden and was amazed to see a large wild rabbit making very macho overtures to Punky Muffin, who was behaving for all the world like a love-struck teenager who'se just come face to face with her favourite rock star. She was practically FIZZING with excitement.

Planning to take out the competition...wild Casanova vs Rocco

Now one of the main differences between domestic and wild rabbits is their size. Pet bunnies can be far larger, and I've never had a rabbit who could squeeze more than their head through our fence to nibble on any plants unfortunate enough to grow within nibbling reach. But as I watched this big wild bunny easily squeezed like a ferret through the gate! I grabbed my camera and started clicking. He hopped, as casually as you like, up to Punky Muffin and gave her a quick lick on the nose as if to say "I'll be back for you in a moment cupcake" before heading straight for Rocco. It was pretty clear that he was aiming to take out the competition so I chucked my camera on the bed and raced downstairs to chase away Casanova before poor old blind Rocco, who was first stunned then extremely pissed off that a strange bunny suddenly barged into his territory (and him), ended up in a fight he surely couldn't win.

An hour later emergency fence alterations were in place, with extra netting fitted to hopefully keep out the marauder. Days passed and the wild rabbit never returned so we assumed it was a one-off event.

This morning however, as I was working at the table in the kitchen, my attention was cuaght by Punky. For a mute animal rabbits are surprsing eloquent and her body language was saying as plain as day: "OMG who the hell are YOU??" On the other side of the fence was a juvenile wild bunny, about as big as my fist, hopping back and forwards excitedly. Whether it saw Punky Muffin as a Mummy or a Hot Mama wasn't clear but she was out of her mind with excitement at this new development. I walked out to check it wasn't a pet rabbit that had escaped but as soon as it saw me it took off at the speed of sound to a nearby stand of trees, so it's definitely wild. It was gone too fast to take a photo so I've snapped some of Punky in her hyper-excited state.

"Did ya see him? Did ya see him? Didya? Didya? Didya see that?"

Rocco typically missed the whole thing because he's blind, but did his best to calm down Punky Muffin in the only way he knows how...

"Forget ze boy...only a man can give you ze lurve you need..."

Whether she is in the mood for love or war isn't clear but she's now patrolling the fencline like a doberman, hoping to spot her new acquaintance again. The rabbit fencing is clearly sufficient to keep out the wild bunnies but frankly she's looking a bit disappointed about that.

Back To Nature

2011-05-02T16:30:00.003+02:00

Buzz Lightyear enjoys a late breakfast

Now that Carl's foot is well on the way to mending - although he still insists he wants to keep the crutches until school starts again (no chance) - I thought I'd share more of our camping adventures with you all. For years I have resisted hubby's attempts to go camping with the kids. It all just seemed too stressful when they were small. We did try it in Sweden when Niels was 2 years old. We borrowed a large tent and headed off, stopping halfway at what turned out to be a crowded campground by a lake. Rain the previous two days combined with the sheer number of people had made the ground muddy and slippery, and as we struggled to figure out exactly where each of the 284 support poles in the damned tent were supposed to go it was inevitable that our lively 2 year old would get bored and wander off.
At that time Niels favourite activity was to try and climb into cars and pretend to drive them. Any car. Not just ours. A passing stranger, fellow camper or lurking child-snatcher would be his best friend if he could only sit in the front seat. After hauling him a couple of times out of cars nearby that belonged to other families he seemed to get the idea.

It was time for a new distraction. While we were still tied up in sheets of canvas (all the wrong shape! How can you make a tent out of 27 pieces of randomly cut canvas!?) Niels spotted the lake through the trees and that was it. His new favourite activity was called 'Run-to-the-lake-then-stop-when-the-water-reaches-my-chin-and-sit-down!'

Can't you see I'm busy?!

He literally would run into the water and plop himself down on the sandy bottom, the only sign of where he had disappeared being a stream of small bubbles gurgling out the sides of his nappy. To a stressed-out Mum who has just spent 8 hours or more in a car and is facing the prospect of sleeping in the mud with a kid determined to either disappear or drown, it was all too much. The rest is a bit of a blur but I vividly remember desperately just wanting to go home; Niels was crying, I was crying, hubby was still optimistically trying to get the damned tent up and I felt like the world was ending. Looking back I can laugh and wonder why I got so wound up about it, but back then it seemed like this was a cruel self-inflicted torture, certainly not a holiday.

The rest of the holiday went ok - especially once we gave up on the tent and stayed in a cabin - but my enthusiasm for camping with kids had evaporated.
Scroll forward 8 years and it didn't seem like such a big deal. The boys are older, more self sufficient, toilet trained, passed the age when they get tummy upsets and holiday illnesses. Surely nothing could go wrong...
The first night we were finally in our tent, me in the middle with a boy on either side like a mother hen with her chicks under her wings. It was dark and I was hoping I wouldn't notice how hard the ground and how thin my mattress was, when Niels said "Mum, my tummy feels funny........I feel sick!"

Frantically fumbling with the zips I just managed to get the tent open and Niels outside before HEEEEEEAAAAAVVVVEEE! He puked everything he'd eaten during the day in a big steaming pile. Lovely.

Our (second) campsite

Needless to say the next morning we re-located to a new site. After taking ten minutes of agonizing stretching before I was able to heave my aching bones into an upright position, I staggered off to the office to organize a new site for the next night. By the time I had returned to prepare breakfast I was almost able to stand upright, and once the kids were off playing I headed home to fetch the thicker cushion we use for our garden bench to sleep on.

Lazy days...

Night 2. My new mattress is softer but only about 1.2 metres long. I'm 1.65 so obviously there's quite a bit of overhang. Utilising spare clothes wadded into piles I managed to create a narrow mattress just long enough to sleep on, assuming I don't need to move until morning. Rolling over is out of the question. We're all a bit tired tonight so the boys fell asleep quickly, leaving me to try not to think about rolling over or how stony the ground is. For hours. Eventually I must have fallen asleep because Carl woke me up at 3:45. "Mum my bed's wet...did you spill something?" Unbelievable, he hasn't peed the bed for years but here we are. And we're not talking about a littel boy pee, we're talking a 10 litre "look what a man I am" flood which had half the tent awash. All the bedding had to be dragged out, the floor mopped, new pjs found and even another pillow made. Eventually, faced with the reality of 2 beds for 3 people, Carl crawled into my sleeping bag and promptly fell asleep, leaving me trying not to think about how numb my arm under his head was. And how I now couldn't lie flat. Until dawn.

That morning my mission home was to fetch new bedding for Carl and do two huge loads of washing.
Night 3. Nobody puked. Nobody peed. But we still hit the trifecta because Carl had injured his foot jumping into the lake and woke up crying at 2am with it swollen and sore. Eventually after lots of cuddles he settled down and slept again, once more leaving me to watch the tent slowly lighten as dawn approached.
So yes, our camping trip was a success, but I can't say it was easy. The kids had a blast and I enjoyed sharing it with them, but our next trip will also be within a short distance of home, I can promise you that. And I'm taking my bed.

Roughin' It

2011-04-27T16:44:00.002+02:00

De Vrolijk campground, Laren Gld.

With hubby away, the kids having a two week holiday and gorgeous weather arriving just in time, I decided to take the boys on an adventure and take them camping for the first time in their lives. I've been camping a few times in the past; our first holiday as a couple was camping in Denmark, while one of our most adventurous was camping in the Rocky Mountains in Canada, listening to the crackle of large animals prowling the woods at night while I cowered under a thin sheet of canvas, hoping the steel bear-bins in which we had to store our food were far enough away to ensure the bears would stay 'over there' somewhere. We counted 23 bears -both grizzlies and black bears - on that holiday but fortunately never had to share a tent with any of them.

This time I chose the campground 'De Vrolijk' which is about 15 minutes away in Laren. I figured it paid to be close to home in case it all ended in tears and we needed to bail out. Plus the camp has a large lake with a beach where the kids can swim and play, a major attraction.

Long story short, our camping adventure was a huge success, with the exception of Carl's accident on the final evening. At about 5 pm, just as we were getting ready to think about cooking some dinner (tinned meatballs, mosquitoes and sand with rice) over our single spirit burner stove, he did one jump too many into the lake and landed awkwardly on his right foot. His toes dug into the mud, his weight landed on the back of his heel, and he ended up with a very sore foot. The next morning it was swollen up impressively and he couldn't put any weight on it at all. Hmmmmmmm. Cue forward a couple of hours to us sitting in the ER at Zutphen hospital. My back was aching from piggy-backing him everywhere and he was looking sideways at the wheelchair a nurse was trying to coax him into.

The triage nurse who first saw him suspected a broken ankle (OMG!), but x-rays eventually showed no broken bones, but plenty of swelling and deep bruising. At this point Carl cheered up considerably when he realized that he would be getting an impressive pressure bandage, and this was nothing to the sheer joy the next morning when I picked up some crutches for him so he could be mobile.

So far his biggest concern is that the bandage and crutches remain a permanent fixture until he's been at school for at least one day, and he wants me to email photos of him, fully handicapped, to his teachers as an advanced warning. Niels is jealous of Carl's special status and between moments of muttering darkly looks like he wants to chuck himself under the next car to get crutches of his own. I wonder what age we are when getting injured is no longer fun and exciting? About the age we stop having a parent to fuss over us 24/7 I suspect.

He's Back!

2011-04-14T18:14:00.004+02:00

Crisis averted, Monkey has been found. Phew! Turns out he was under Carl's mattress, having ended up under there when hubby changed the sheets. It's so hard to get good staff these days...
Smiles all round :)

MISSING! One Slightly Worn Monkey...

2011-04-12T22:02:00.005+02:00

WANTED: ONE MUCH LOVED MONKEY, SLIGHTLY WORN

Something truly terrible has happened...the fear of every parent with young children. Carl's Monkey has Gone Missing. MISSING I tell you! This is the same Monkey who has comforted him every night for the past four years, been dragged on and off countless planes to New Zealand, Singapore, Scotland, England, Denmark and more countries besides. He's survived hundreds of hours of car trips doubling as a pillow, tens of thousands of kilometers stuffed in hand luggage, and countless washes in the machine, Scout sleep-overs, days being dragged in and out of the sandpit, piles of lego, bicycle bags...and yet he's never gone missing before. To be honest he's rarely more than a meter from Carl's reach outside of school hours, and has been smuggled into school on more than one occasion.

The photo above is just one of countless which I have found on my iPhone over the years, taken in secret by Carl when I'm not looking in homage to his best buddy. And here he is Christmas 2009, joining in the fun, as always within reach of Carl:

Monkey comes from Build A Bear, that chain of shops where kids get to pick out their cuddly toy of choice, stuff it, put in a heart, help sew them up then convince their parents to spend a small fortune on cute outfits.

This is Monkey dressed in the Star Wars Stormtrooper outfit I brought back from Houston last year:

Since then Carl's looking a bit better (more teeth) and Monkey is looking a bit more tattered (less fur) but they are still inseparable. Which is why No 2 sobbed himself to sleep tonight while his parents turned the house upside down looking for a small brown primate whose 'birth certificate' lists him as Triceratops Transformer, but we all know simply as...Monkey.

Growing Up

2011-03-26T16:36:00.000+01:00

Niels practising, 26/3/2011

Sometimes kids just seem to grow overnight, and that's certainly been the case with both No. 1 and No. 2 lately. Every time I turn around, Carl seems to have grown into the next size of jeans, and tomorrow I'll have to weed out all the too-small t-shirts from Niels cupboard. Where have my little boys gone?
So here's a couple of photos to keep the family updated in case you don't recognise us next time we arrive at the Airport and think I've traded in my little snuggle-muffins for a couple of strapping Dutch boys. As Carl would say in his best posh British accent, "bloody hell lads, what's going on here then?"

Ben 10 to the rescue!

Spring Has Sprung!

2011-03-19T11:07:00.001+01:00

It seemed like it would never happen but suddenly spring has arrived. The grass has greened ever so slightly, crocuses and snowdrops are blooming, and even the daffodils are on the verge of bursting into flower any minute. The wildlife is getting that itching feeling again too; our resident blackbird is once again lining her nest right by the back door, scaring the life out of me whenever I walk past by shooting past horizontally at nose level when I approach the door. Last week I was amazed to see a falcon perched on top of our bird feeding table, only about 4 metres from the window. At first I had a bit of a panic as I thought he was eyeing up Rocco, obliviously muching bird seed that had fallen to the ground below. However given that the rabbit was about 5 times larger than falcon, I'm pretty sure it was actually eyeballing the littel hole at the entrance to the burrow of our resident field mouse, who has hibernated the past few winters at the base of our magnolia tree. I realise this is a specatacularly bad photo but he kept flying away to a nearby tree every time he saw me approaching the window with a camera:

Spring is also the time of year for pruning some trees, and I was lucky to time a visit to my friend in Vorden just when she was having the willows on her farm cut back. Willow branches are utterly delicious - if you happen to be a rabbit - and provide a welcome snack at this time of year when the vegetation has been nibbled to bare dirt after a long winter. So I filled up the back of the car and brought home a load. The bunnies were ecstatic with my offering, less so with my trying to get photos of them eating it.

Monsieur Rocco A. Rabbit says: "Yezz? Can you not zee I am buzy, eating ze willow...enough of your zilly photoz, be gone!"

In the mean time I've stored the pile in a corner of the garden - having rabbits is not really conducive to tidy gardening anyway - and give them a couple of branches a day to munch through, which keeps them busy and happy. Unless I try to take a photo, of course.

Madam Punky M. Rabbit is NOT AMUSED

...And It's Still Winter...

2011-03-01T16:37:00.000+01:00

For the third year in a row, hubby took the boys to Sweden to visit their Aunty and cousins in the spring break. I say spring, but as you can see by the photos, winter still has a strong grip on Scandinavia. However there were no complaints about the cold (mainly because I wasn't there!), and they all had a great time. It was also the boy's first ever time on skis, and they spent some time burning off energy cross-country skiing.

Niels was determined not to be photographed, so this photo above is the only one of him on skis. Carl, a natural exhibitionist, was only too happy to pose of course. He also celebrated his seventh birthday with his cousins; it's hard to believe he's growing up so fast. Last night he came downstairs half an hour after I'd put hi mto bed to announce he had discovered a wiggly tooth. He returned to bed...then raced downstairs ten minutes later with the tooth in his hand and a bloody hole in his top gum! Apparently he just couldn't wait for nature to take it's course and pulled it out himself. Eeeeuuuuuww!

No I Don't Glow In The Dark

2011-02-20T19:56:00.015+01:00

Fuel rod control mechanism on top of reactor vessel

Every now and again I get to do something very cool for my job. This is one such occassion. Can you guess what this is? Anybody...anybody.... Ok, I'll tell you. I'm leaning on the top of a nuclear reactor vessel. A real one. This is a massive metal structure that houses a nuclear Pressurized Water Reactor (PWR), the most common type of nuclear reactor used today. Those big metal pipes coming out contain the control rod mechanism, which allow the uranium fuel rods to be raised or lowered into the core to speed up or slow down the fission reaction. How cool is that?
A couple of weeks ago I visited the International Nuclear Academy in Chalon-sur-Saone, a town in Burgundy, France. They have access to a nuclear power station simulator which includes every important piece of equipment you find in an operating nuclear plant. Not replicas or small models, but the real things. And it's all HUGE. I can't even imagine how many tens of millions of euros it's all worth.
The centre is used to give power plant operators and technicians hands-on training, and I had a lot of fun climbing up and over steam generators, handling fuel bundles, peering through massive coolant lines and watching trainees hone their skills removing spent fuels rods out of a reactor (below). The reactor pool is even filled with tens of thousands of litres of water, glowing a bright blue, just like the real thing.

Operators removing spent fuel rods and inserting new ones into a reactor vessel

The only thing missing of course is the uranium; this is all real equipment but obviously none of it has been used with real fuel so there's no radiation. You can even practice filling up spent fuel rod canisters (below).

Spent fuel canister

It may not sound like a great day out of some people, but I felt like a kid in a toy shop. Definitely a highlight so far!

Yes It Was THAT Flu

2011-02-16T15:58:00.000+01:00

It turns out that our town has been hit by the Mexican flu, so I suppose that's what made Carl so sick. In the end he was off school for a week, but he's still tired and a bit paler than normal. Niels recovered quickly and is now completely in denial that he was ever sick. At least he doesn't suffer from man-flu (yet!).

Spring is finally arriving and I'm crossing every apendage hoping that we don't get a late snow storm or freeze. The flowers have started to come out, the birds are chirping like mad, and the bunnies are digging up the lawn. Again.

Rocco dozing in the sun

Rocco is doing brilliantly, and I've just taken a quick pic of him in the garden, dozing in the sun (above). He can hold this pose for anything up to about quarter of an hour before suddenly coming to life and hopping off to continue his rounds in the garden. I guess it's the bunny equivalent of nodding off in front of the t.v., without the drool. And in case you are wondering why Punky Muffin never seems to be in the photo with him, it's because every time I walk outside, this happens:

Punky Muffin: "pet me or feed me, just don't ignore me!"

Och Aye, It's Glasgow!

2011-02-13T08:00:00.024+01:00

My tartan

So we made it to Glasgow, woo-hoo! By Saturday morning Niels was looking a bit rough; his temp had gone up to 39.1 so I gave him a dose of paracetemol and he seemed to cheer up. He is so rarely sick it was bit of a novelty for all of us, and we kept our fingers crossed that it wasn't going to develop into anything too bad. First priority was the slap-up buffet breakfast downstairs. Niels first ecstatic words were "Cool, they've got haggis for breakfast!" and he tucked into a plateful of that. (I know, I know, but he's a half Dutch-half New Zealand kid who lived a large part of his life in Singapore and loves haggis, what can I say). I enjoyed some black pudding while Carl tucked into a bowl of baked beans...I wasn't volunteering to sit next to him for the rest of the day!
We spent the morning with friends, whose daughter kindly offered to babysit the boys while we went to the party that night (thanks Karen!). After indulging in a lovely roast chicken lunch we resisted the urge to just roll our now considerably round bellies back into our beds for a wee nap and instead headed off to the excellent Science Centre, one of Glasgow's highlights. After half an hour in the very cool interactive and hands-on Science Mall we watched an amazing film in the Imax theatre there about the Hubble space telescope. Emerging feeling very small and insignificant in the grand scale of things indeed, Niels was clearly started to wilt so we walked back to the hotel - which is next to the Science Centre - to chill for a few hours.
Surprisingly both kids were keen for dinner, Carl indulging his passion for good old English fish and chips with a bowl of baked beans on the side (guess whose bed he's was going to be sleeping in tonight?).
In the evening I slipped into my new tartan skirt and it was off to the party. It was an enjoyable evening and we returned to the room by about 11pm and said goodbye to Karen. Both boys were asleep in one big bed so we were getting ready to hit the sack...when in wobbled Carl, shivery and feverish, tearful and jittery. I took his temperature and it was FORTY TWO DEGREES!!!!
Cue controlled panic mode as we simultaneously stripped him off, dosed him up on Paracetemol and draped wet towels over his upper body to try and quickly cool him down before he started having a seizure. Clearly he'd caught what Niels had but in a more aggresive form. Crisis averted, but we would be keeping a close eye on both of them for a few days.
The next morning the boys were both feeling pretty rotten but making the most of it. After a very small breakfast - let's face it none of us needed more food anyway! - they crawled back into bed and stayed there until we caught our bumpy flight home.
Funnily enough they both keep saying what a fun weekend it was and how much they love Scotland, which just goes to show that if we could all look on the bright side of life as much as kids do, we'd all be happier people.

Bumpity Bumpity Bump...

2011-02-11T11:27:00.002+01:00

Ok as hubby rang especially from the North Sea last night to remind me, I can't keep complaining about the winter because we DID make it to Scotland last Friday afterall, despite the high winds. After our flights were cancelled we were luckily able to get seats on the evening flight departing at 8:35 for Glasgow and discovered it is possible to get sea sick on a plane. Yes, sea sick.

Meanwhile, Niels had come home for lunch on Friday and seemed off colour. He was quite tired so rather than send him back to school we bundled him into bed for a rest since it was going to be a late night. By the time we went to the airport he had a bit of a high temperature so I packed Paracetemol and my digital thermometer just in case.

As we boarded the plane the first thing we noticed was that it was MOVING. Not rolling down the runway, but sloshing from side to side as the wind gusts outside made it heave and pitch like a ship anchored in a stormy bay. We staggered down the aisle like 150 drunken sailors and it's the first time I've boarded a plane and heard every passenger clicking their seat belts on before the engines have even started. Ominous. The kids were excited to be off to another country, favourite monkey and bear clutched in their hands and no sign of sleepiness despite the late hour.

Taking off was...interesting. Remember that stormy bay? Apparently there were a few ski jumps installed just for fun and we bounced over every one before the wheels left the ground. Trying to keep a jolly I tone I said to the kids "this is fun, isn't it...aaaaAAAAAAAAAaaaahh!" as the wings dipped first left, then right, then the plane did that bizarre maneuvere where the nose twitches left, the tail flicks right, and you just know deep inside that planes are not supposed to fly diagonally! As we climbed steeply - presumably to avoid any more ski jumps - the sloshing sensation continued and Carl slowly turned pale, then slightly greenish. Out came the sick bag and I was left cursing the fact that Mum's always get to sit between the kids; why is it never Dad's that get puked on? Was that hidden in the small print of the marriage vows?

Amazingly once we gained altitude the flight smoothed out, the puke crisis was averted and the landings - there were about four before the wheels finally settled on the ground for good - were not too frightening. As my Dad says, any landing you can walk away from is a good one. It was off to the Crown Plaza where the kids were too hyper to sleep before 1 am, and hubby and I resorted to splitting up and taking one boy each into our beds and shutting the connencting room doors to settle them down. Hardly a romantic start to the weekend.

Now I REALLY Hate Winter

2011-02-04T10:38:00.001+01:00

I just sat down to check up in for our flights to Scotland, where we plan to have a weekend away with the kids and go to hubby's belated work Xmas party. PLANNED, I should say; our flight has been cancelled due to strong winds. Bugger bugger bugger. Looks like I won't get to wear my new tartan skirt after all.

Kid's City; Play Paradise in Borne

2011-01-23T08:00:00.002+01:00

In the weekend the boys and I finally made it to Kid's City, a large indoor playground about 30 minutes away in Borne, near the German border. I say finally because we were on our way out the door to visit it when Rocco had his accident. Although I moan about my kids sometimes, I was proud of the way they swallowed their disappointment at having that trip cancelled as they were literally climbing into the car and focused on Rocco's problems for the weekend instead; not bad for a 6 and 9 year old.

The delay just made our visit even more fun this time. With a swash-buckling pirate theme, Kids City is three floor of sweat-inducing fun for under 12s. The multi-layered playground is of the type you see everywhere these days with netted sides and padded obstacles, except bigger and better! 50 different play elements have been incorporated into the structure, which is a veritable maze. Several seating areas provide places for parents to escape to, although as is always the case in these places, ear plugs or an iPod are essential to prevent your brains bledding out of your ears every time (someone ele's) brat gives a piercing squeal.

The cafe sells pirate themed food and for those who really can't bear to leave, there's a Pirate Buffet at night. Really.
Because the seating area is raised up, you can look down into the play area and watch Dad's being pelted to a pulp in the ball-bin, and little boys pinging themselves of the walls of the bouncy castle until they want to puke. And all for only €4.95 per child! Guess where we'll be going for Carl's 7th birthday next month...

Update on Rocco, & the Perfect Winter Pavillion

2011-01-19T09:44:00.008+01:00

Firstly thanks to those of you who rang or emailed messages of support for Rocco. The good news is; he's doing fabulously! In fact after the first day he couldn't figure out what all the fuss was about, although he was high for a week on painkillers which may explain that. Anyway I appreciated the good wishes and they at least partially compensated for the 125 new grey hairs which appeared overnight. Rocco had his stitches removed on Monday afternoon, and he is healing well. I've just this minute raced outside to take a photo so here he is:

I think his new look makes him look wily and wise, although it has been sorely tempting to put a pirate patch over his eye...
By the way this photo was taken in the bunnies new Winter Pavillion. After last year's cold and snowy winter I wanted to find a good solution for the rabbits this year that would allow them to enjoy their daily activities outside without having the discomfort of dealing with the snow and ice for weeks on end. I think Rocco is too much of a Senior Bun to have to deal with wading through snow, and sometimes last year the fur around his bum seemed to be wet and cold for days. So one afternoon in late November I had a flash of inspiration and sketched up the design for the Winter Pavillion. Our good freind Derek agreed to make it, and even drew it up professionally in 3D Auto Cad to make sure it was perfect!The Pavillion is basically a deep tray with an overhanging roof, raised off the ground to prevent it getting damp. Lower access points have been made on three sides, wheels at one end and a handle at the other make it easy to move, and the generous overhang keeps out snow and rain. With a deep layer of hay it's the perfect place to chill, hang out, and have your ears licked (if you're into that kind of thing). The main thing is, the bunnies LOVE it! Key to the success of the Pavillion I think is that it's open on all sides so they have a 360 degree view (well at least Punky Muffin does because she can see!) to patrol the garden, while still being sheltered from wind and rain. Once the snow started falling they literally spent all day in there, nibbling on snacks like veges or apple branches which I toss in a couple of times a day. If anybody wants the plans on CD, you can have them in excahnge for a donation to the Opvang Franky rabbit rescue; just send me an email via the comments button below.
With Rocco being blind (even before he lost his right eye), he relies on his sense of smell to navigate around the garden and the snow seems to mask many of the familiar scents; the first snowy day I saw him standing bewildered and a bit lost, nose in the air, trying to figure out where he was. So each day I shovelled the 'bunny trails' clear for him, keeping his regular circuit free of snow; the perimieter of the garden, his favourite pee spot, access to either side of the Winter Pavillion and to the ivy plant he's determined to kill by chewing through its ankles before spring. With these paths kept clear he would happy hop around, stretching his legs doing his circuit before snuggling back into the pavillion. We could almost hear him happily "bumbly bumbly bumbly" - ing to himself as he went along. As I tell my friends, my rabbits are not spoilt; they are much loved.

A VERY Bad Day

2011-01-09T23:05:00.012+01:00

Yesterday was supposed to be such a nice day. The kids and I discovered that there's a massive indoor playground about half an hour away on the A1 heading towards Germany and planned to spend the day there; me with a pile of books and my iPod, them running around and yelling themselves hoarse in the pirate-themed 'play paradise'.

We were getting ready to go, and in the back of my mind it registered that I hadn't seen Rocco outside for a while. As we got our stuff together I glanced out a few times, checking the places he would normally be around 10am and decided to have a quick check before jumping in the car. I found him in the hutch with his back to the door. Opening up the lid I said " hey Rocco..." then noticed two drops of blood in the straw bedding. Carefully scooping him up, I looked down and spotted a red mass protruding from his head where his right eye should be. It was one of those horrendous moments, when you feel like your guts have just dropped into your shoes while your brain implodes against the top of your skull. My heartbeat went from 60 to 120 in about 0.5 of a second as Crisis Mode set in. I quickly put him back down, flicked the door of the hutch shut in case he tried to leave and ran inside. Grabbing the phone I rang the vet clinic; they were just about to shut. After telling them I would be there in less than 5 minutes with an emergency I yelled at the kids to either come with me or stay here but to decide RIGHT NOW. Within a minute I had Rocco in the car and we were at the vet within 2 more minutes.

At first it looked hopeful; as the vet first cleaned the wound with saline, the red mass turned out to be a blood clot. However as she rinsed further we both went "Oh!" as we simultaneously saw what was clearly the lens of the eye crumpled on his lower eye lid. The eyeball was ruptured. The eye would have to be surgically removed and the lids stitched permanently shut if he was to survive.

It's at moments like this that I start mentally kicking myself in the head as I try not to get emotional, not to let feelings take over from logic and crowding the space in my head as critical split-second decisions need to be made. The vet and her assistant were both on their own time; in theory I should bring Rocco back on Monday (never an option) or find the emergency vet in the region. However without hesitation she asked her assistant if she would work overtime and the answer was yes.

There was no question about whether or not to operate. Rocco has been practically blind in both eyes anyway for a long time due to cataracts, and if he survived the operation his quality of life would not be impaired; he would not be in any pain or further handicapped. However the big danger was the anaesthetic. Rocco is 'officially' (according to the vet) the oldest rabbit in our town, and at 9 years 7 months, the oldest one she has ever seen. Surviving the operation was a huge risk for him, but one we had to take. There simply wasn't another option. As he hunched on the examination table, motionlessly leaning his head in the palm of my hand, I wondered if this was goodbye. He never made a noise the entire time, but feeling that small weight of him in my hand, leaning for support in a silent plea for help, I was acutely aware that his life was literally in the balance. Gently putting him back into the cage, I tried not to think that I may never get to pat him again and telling him I'd see him soon, I left.

There followed 90 nail-biting minutes while I waited at home for the phone call. I filled the time frantically trying to find what he had poked his eye on, and setting up a large cage in the lounge for him to recover in for the next week or so. He will have to be separated from Punky Muffin until the stitches come out (PLEASE don't let them un-bond again!) and for the first night he would need extra heating to prevent post-operative shock setting in.

Finally the phone rang; he had survived and was starting to wake up. I collected him gratefully, only just resisting the temptation to crush the vet in a huge hug. Gingerly laying him in his temporary home in the lounge, he flopped groggily into the soft bedding and gradully woke up over the next four hours or so. By late afternoon he was starting to nibble vegetables, and he was more or less fully awake by late evening. This morning he was feeling a bit lethargic but since the weather was sunny and all the snow has melted in the past couple of days I let him out - closely supervised - to spend time on the grass with Punky Muffin. He immediately cheered up, gave himself a thorough groom and started trying to hump her. He is truly unbelievable.

The reason I'm posting these pictures is so that you can see that while small animals do get seriously hurt despite our best attempts to keep them safe, rapid veterinary help can do wonders. Don't give up on them. The odds of Rocco not waking up after surgery were high, but he deserved the chance, and he sailed through. He's got some recovering to do but with continued TLC he should make a full recovery and be back harassing his girlfriend within 8 or 9 days. Once the swelling goes down and his fur grows back he won't look like he's just gone 3 rounds with Mike Tyson. The point is our pets deserve every chance we can give them to lead long, healthy lives.

Happy 2011!

2011-01-03T18:13:00.000+01:00

You're probably sick of hearing it by now but I really mean it: I hope no-one I know has anything blight their year and that the next 12 months are a box of fluffies! Unfortunately that's pretty unlikely but fingers crossed.
The kids were back to school today, and as I was trying to swoosh them out the door on time Carl had his first little melt down of the year. I bought him some snow boots just before the Christmas holidays started and he's been proudly stomping around in them ever sinice. Problem is...they have laces. Kids these days just don't do laces. Shoes are velcro-strapped until they are at least 10 years old and somewhere along the way we'd forgotten to teach him how to lace his shoes.
Tears and frustration at not being able to tie a bow himself threatened to ruin his day. Fortunately he has another pair of boots (with velcro) which he could wear instead today...so tonight is lace-tying lesson time!!

Behind the scenes football team AZC-5; Part 2

2010-12-29T08:00:00.005+01:00

Dear reader,

Injuries are something special in our football team. What surprises me the most is that most of our injuries happen when Coach Half is with us. There is an explanation for this; Coach Half is with us once every 3 or 4 weeks, Coach 1 is referee and Coach 2 just plays with his grandson. So when we get injured we try to time it when Coach Half is with us otherwise no one will help us, right?
It is sooooo funny to see, when someone is injured, Coach Half runs into the field, most of the time he didn’t see what happened and he often runs to the wrong player. While he is running with his water bag we tell him where to go and who is injured. It really looks very professional. By the way every team of my club has its own water bag including a sponge to help the injured player. But someone took away our sponge. Our coaches were of course shocked, totally in panic because OUR SPONGE was gone. It must be said that they fixed it in their own way and found a solution. We now have a dishcloth, you all know it, a yellow spongy Sorbo cloth. I have to admit that after sometime u get used to it, but when I am home and look at our kitchen and see the same dishcloth I almost get a heart attack coz I am afraid I took the one from football field home. Lucky me, my wife now knows how to calm me down.

On a nice sunny Sunday morning in spring our youngest defender was injured, it was terrible to see; he was screaming loudly for nothing, but ok. The other defenders who stood nearby him, gave him plenty of advice like, “hey asshole nothing happened and don’t let us down”. This is not always helpful so Coach Half has to come onto the field with his famous water bag including that f*cking stupid yellow dishcloth, as usual Coach Half didn’t know who was injured so he runs half way around the field and finally arrives at the right player. When he arrived Coach Half saw that one of the defenders was already trying to take the temperature of the injured player, the only thing was he didn’t used a normal thermometer but just used his finger. Some other guy tried to blow on the wrist of the poor guy; Coach Half asked why and the answer was that years ago the school doctor also told him to blow on his wrist. Coach Half looked bit strange when hearing this explanation. Anyway Coach Half started to make the yellow dishcloth wet and washed the hurt player very nicely. The only 3 visitors of the game looked a bit strange but we’ve gotten used to this over the years. Coach Half also started to investigate the chest of the wounded player by pushing the chest and giving it some friendly hits, he also pushed a little on the bones. The poor guy started to shout loudly and we told him to be quiet coz we didn’t liked his yelling but somehow the player was right coz later on in hospital it was discovered that one bone was broken. We still don’t know if this happened due to the tackle or the first aid of Coach Half. It seemed that the player could not go on with the game so he made it difficult for us to win. However as we have done many times, the defenders did a really good job and saved the rest of the team and that’s why we won this game.

Of course we had a party afterwards in our canteen. The evening before Coach 2 had made some really nice meat balls, very spicy with lots of chilli, his wife was probably not home that evening. He can always explain it to us sooo nicely how he made those meatballs. In the evenings after he came back from the toilet, please don’t ask what he did there, he went to the kitchen and made from some kilos of meat nice meatballs, we still don’t know if the colour of the meatballs, a nice brown, is because of his toilet visit or from cooking but ok. Anyway, when he makes those meatballs for us he always arrives later at football field but we forgive him for this, yes he becomes our hero until we have finished the meatballs. We always tell him how much we love him. Of course Coach 1 and Coach Half become jealous but as soon as we finish the meatballs we start hating Coach 2 as much as before. Anyway Coach 2 had made those famous meatballs the evening before this game and before that youngest player broke his bone. It has to be said that after some alcohol Coach 2 start shouting like a class of schoolgirls and within 5 minutes he totally forgot if we won or lost the game. To him everyone played a good game and he likes to thump everyone on the shoulder who is close to him and when he can’t thump their shoulder he will hit them in the chest. Pity for the wounded player coz Coach 2 could not find his shoulder and therefore kicked him on his chest and yes exactly on the broken bone, it was very funny to see, although the wounded player could not laugh, he is such a pussy. Anyway we stayed late and had lots of fun.

This is also the next problem for most of us; because we have fun almost every Sunday, our wives also know we have lots of fun and that we will come home late. And the next Sunday we hear the story that some wives were angry of course. Yes all of us know that bad story.
We like football and the time we share together after the game too much and not all women agree with us.

Ok and now I reach the end of this peek behind the screens of my team AZC-5. I think this story is the same for all the other teams, every football player will have such stories, don’t take it too seriously just laugh about it.

Behind the scenes of football team AZC-5; Part 1

2010-12-26T07:57:00.002+01:00

Hi blogosphere, you will remember a while ago I had a guest blogger, Mr Jan D from my work. He's a guy with a talent for seeing the humorous side in most things, and today he has kindly allowed me to publish the first installment of a story he wrote for his football team's newsletter. He's even translated it into English and I'm sure you'll enjoy it! It's quite long, so I'll publish the second half in a couple of days. Here's Jan...

Dear football friends,

In anticipation of the new football season I want to take u back into the past, despite the advice we hear so often in our lives, work, marriage and even on the football field, “Just look ahead because you can’t change the past”. Its sounds great, those words, but sometimes it’s so nice to look back! In the past everything was better, RIGHT? But not with my team, so I will try to show you how it works.
In my team there are only young guys (45 years old and even older, much older to be honest.) But we also have some young “rabbits” in the team; one even recently became a father again. Knowing that in my team we only talk and reminisce about what we got up to when we were young - which is why we play in this team - this guy went and did what the rest of us can only talk about after our games.
Our team has two and a half coaches. These coaches are like a safe rock in the sea for our team. This is not a joke because when the game starts it really looks like we have two rocks on the field. Every now and then they move a bit but it’s so slowly you can hardly see it. So is it strange that we have 2.5 coaches? NO, this is very normal for us. Coach Half told us a long time ago that he works in a prison and is not available every weekend. Dear readers, I know u that you must be thinking “does he works in prison or is he a prisoner?” Well we had the same question but when u get bit older u get more perspective. Therefore we also love Coach Half.

I’d like to take through a normal Sunday morning. Our home games start at 9.30 am. Why for Gods sake it should be so early? Nobody knows, but maybe it’s because then the neighbours so can sleep in and we don’t bother them.
I’m usually one of the first to arrive, and take a place at the table near the coffee machine. Dear readers, it is so funny to see these talented guys come in, like young dogs! You can see how motivated they all are, their faces shows it, especially when more then half of the guys say “Goddamned it’s still f*king early, I could sleep for hours” and “I wish I hadn’t drunk that last beer." The same defender always asks; “hey mate, which team are we playing,” so then I think all will be fine, pffffff.

But the nicest moment is yet to come because our coaches expect us to be in before 9 am. As the last seconds approach we all count down and everyone who comes one sec too late gets a nice yell from us, coz he will be the substitute for the coming game. Needless to say we also inform our coaches if they didn’t see who was late, and pass on the name of the guy.
Coach 1 is usually already in and is busy in the board room, don’t ask me what he is doing coz nobody knows. Coach 2 always arrives late; we can see him cycling like an idiot to be on time. He is also the one who tells us which players will play. Don’t think it’s that difficult coz normally he writes the names on a piece of paper on Sunday morning when goes to the toilet. It seems he is able to sit very peacefully and let his thoughts go free. A little after 9 we go to the changing room. This is also very funny; the bag with shirts, shorts and socks is sitting on the ground, so you have to bend over to get your stuff. For us this is the start of our warming up. Some guys are bit naughty and pinch your ass when u bend over but as long it’s part of warming up then everything is allowed. After a while every body is quiet again and gets dressed, although some guys are busier dressing their neighbours than themselves but ok.

Suddenly the door of the changing room opens and Coaches 1 & 2 come in, and welcome us with the famous words: “Good morning assholes! Listen and keep your mouths shut while Coach 2 tells you who’s going to play today.” We even don’t have time to say good morning because Coach 2 continues, and we all know with what sentence he will start coz it’s always the same: “It was not easy to make the list of who’s gonna play, but I have succeeded again”. When we look around in the room and see only 11 healthy players, we ask ourselves why it would be so difficult but ok, Coach 2 can look very strict. Most of time when he tells us who is playing we already start talking to our teammates and Coach 2 soon leaves the room looking a bit pissed off. All the authority he has at home is gone 2 minutes after being with us. Sometimes it creates problems because when we are standing on the field, you can sometimes hear one guy saying; “oh shit, you are also playing today?”

Almost every time when Coach 2 is busy telling us who’s playing, I ask him: “How’s your wife, did you two have a nice time last night?” Then Coach 2 forgets what he wanted to say and looks really angrily at me which is a bit frightening.

Recently a linesman joined our team, don’t ask us why but we live in a free world. One thing is for sure, the guy must have a nice wife. The linesman comes in with his little bag and starts changing his clothes. We can hardly believe it but everything he takes out has been ironed, yes we are all surprised and sometimes we also think that she even irons his dirty underwear but we can’t prove that. We see a crease in his dirty underwear but we don’t dare to come to close to it.

Our warming up is a bit different than normal, because usually you go and run but we discovered that putting some ointment on our legs also helps and give us more time to rest. RED HOT is the name of the cream, just put it on your legs, put some water on it and it feels like your legs are on fire. Some guys forget to put the water on and when they take a shower after the game their legs start burning, this is why they are not 100% during the game. There are even some guys who put the cream on other places of their body, but then I think: guys this is not necessary for the game, right?

Sometimes, just after Coach 2 has told us who is playing, Coach Half comes in. He is a very serious guy and starts immediately with who is gonna play. We look at him bit strangely, coz we just heart from Coach 2 who will play, so we think “miscommunication” but Coach Half continues his talk. It seems that Coach 1 has given him the old list with names on it, hilarity all over and Coach Half decides to leave us and go to the canteen for a cup of coffee.
In the meantime we try to get ready for another exciting game. Coach 1 also changes his clothes; it looks like he will be the referee. Dear readers don’t think that because he is the referee it’s easier for us to win, not at all. Sometimes we really think he doesn’t love us anymore. It looks like we only make the violations on the field. But we are still proud when we see Coach 1 in his cute referee outfit hop over the field, like a young deer.
Coach 2 was our lines man but due to unclear reasons he was replaced to the new linesman. It is maybe nice to tell you that, before the new linesman was with us, Coach 2 was a very serious linesman, at least for the first 10 minutes. Most of time we survived these 10 minutes, despite some mistakes from the linesman, we even accepted that he didn’t see offside because it happened more then 20 metres from him. But it’s funny to see him with his flag, it gives us a comforting feeling to look at the side line and see the corner flag up and his flag down. Yes, it’s normal to us and we are used to it, or at some of us. But when, after 10 minutes, the linesman’s grandson comes to see his grandfather, and we look again to the sideline, we only see the corner flag in right position. Our linesman is gone, why?? Because he is playing with his grandson, really nice for the cute little guy but not so nice for us.

Nevertheless our team does exactly what it says, yes sometimes too exactly. Because when our keeper shouts, “leave the ball” when our opponents take a corner and the ball comes in the penalty area, every defender knows DON’T TOUCH THE BALL, but sometimes also our keeper thinks that and that means our opponents score a goal. But ok he said leave the ball and he was right, he also left it alone, F*CK!
You can read on the face of some of my mates; why we don’t have 2 keepers, because competition is a good thing? But to be honest, he has saved us a lot because he is a good keeper although we as defenders have also saved him a lot. Our midfield is the heart of the team, it’s just a pity they don’t know it themselves. But lucky us we have Coach 2. When he sees the game going badly he jumps of his chair and shouts, sorry I can’t write down which words he uses. A little ashamed, we all go on with the game. Our midfielders are awakened by those words and also Coach 2. Really now and then I think that our referee has to laugh a lot when Coach 2 shouts those dirty words to us but maybe I am wrong.

...to be continued next time!

Flash and Jab

2010-12-22T10:24:00.005+01:00

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.............yes you're probably all sick of hearing about the record snow falls in Europe. Airports are closed, roads are treacherously slippery, old people dare not venture out of doors. The Dutch are even pushing their bikes rather than riding them, which is a sign that it's REALLY serious.

It's also the season for 'flu of course, and the BBC reported this week that there is concern among the Powers That Be that too few people are getting vaccinated. Apparently the numbers are 10% lower than last year and with three different influenza viruses doing the rounds at the moment - including Swine Flu - higher numbers of people will inevitably get sick and/or die. Ironically the fact that the Swine Flu vaccine is included in this year's cocktail is being blamed for putting people off getting vaccinted. To me that kind of logic is right up there with deciding to start farming rats during a plague epidemic, but then common sense rarely seems to have much influence on what the massess do.

I'm feeling particularly smug, as you may have noticed, because this is the first winter that I have chosen to be vaccinated. I'm not in a high risk group but last year I had pneumonia twice, which was a truly miserable experience, and when I get a bad cold I tend to get bronchitis so I thought sod it, if there's a chance any sickness I get will be less severe, then I'm grabbing that with both hands.

My GP dutifully wrote a prescription and I collected my vaccine from the chemist after handing over about 30 euros. At this point I was supposed to arrange to go back to my GP so he could adminster the shot but I thought "to hell with that, hubby disappears every year or so for his flash offshore medical training, now's my chance to finally get some benefit from that". If he can set bones, stitch up gushing wounds and insert IV lines, he can certainly give me a tiny shot. So I popped the vaccine in the fridge and informed him that when he arrived home from sea the next day he had a job to do. And that I had a surprise for him in the fridge, haha.

Strangely enough, he wasn't particularly thrilled about the prospect of sticking a needle in my arm. I've administered shots to rabbits a few times and while it's not one of my famourite things it's not a big deal and my upper arm is a lot easier to hit than a squirming bunny. When the time came I swabbed the site, handed him the syringe (having checked the dose etc) and told him to go for it. Five second later it was all over, and no-one was passed out on the floor. He was obviously more relieved it was over than I, and admitted "I couldn't do that to one of the kids".

Gee thanks, nice to know where I come in the pecking order!

Shhhhhh.....

2010-11-25T20:16:00.003+01:00

Tonight I was getting Niels into bed, with Carl already snuggled up warm in his room next door. I moved to the window to pull the curtains and "Ooohh!!!" Outside, as quiet as darkness itself, snow had started to fall. Big fat flakes the size of potato chips tumbled out of the night sky, illuminiated by the glow of street lights as they settled then quickly melted on the cobblestones.

I called Carl and he joined us, pink and warm and with eyes heavy with almost-sleep. As the three of us looked out at the falling snow the boys were silent, speechless in surprise at this unexpected white visitor. When they finally started speaking again it was in a whisper, as if talking loudly would disturb the magic and it would stop.

Winter has arrived.

Take That!

2010-11-16T16:11:00.003+01:00

Last night I was tucking Carl into bed at the end of another long day. His light was out, the room dimly lit by the illuminated globe on the bookshelf which casts a bluish glow over the room. We were lying on the bed, heads on pillow having our usual goodnight chat; who did you play with at school, what's Sinter Klaas going to give you this year, why he's not allowed to drink three glasses of water before bed, etc.
Sliding my face closer to his, I laid my hand like a roof over the space between our heads and whispered "look, when I flutter my fingers like this it looks just like lightening." He lay completely still, spell-bound by the flicking blueish light as I quickly raised then lowered my hand. Then he wanted a turn.
"Look Mum, I can make the lightening too" he whispered, gently lifting and lowering his hand.

"And...HERE COME THE THUNDER!" he cried and SLAPPED the side of my head!!!

People Are Awesome...And Then Some!

2010-11-06T08:00:00.001+01:00

This is the MOST amazing video you'll see for a long, long, time. Granted, I wouldn't actually actually do any of these things myself, but it makes you feel cool at being part of the human race just to see what poeple are capable of.

Now It's MINE!

2010-11-02T12:12:00.001+01:00

The other day the kids were happily messing about outside and, as usual, didn't bother to put away their toys when they finished as it was starting to get dark. Next time I looked out the window, look who had claimed the mini wheelbarrow as hers!

Houston, We Have Lift Off...

2010-10-31T08:00:00.003+01:00

Okay so apart from familiy visits, what made October such a busy month this year? Well I did get to spend a week in Houston, Texas, home of Long Horn cattle, Stetsons, and an event which the company I work for organises every two years called Stainless Steel World. Come on, tell me that name doesn't make you want to grab your passport and jump on the next plane??!

I won't go into details of the event here save to say it was a lot of fun. I didn't really get to see much of Texas; in fact I didn't even see Houston at all as we were located in a brand-spanking new town which seems to have risen up out of the hot-baked earth like a shiny new button, Woodlands. It's kind of a purpose-built community with artfully placed canals, swathes of evergreen trees able to withstand the hot humid summers and the freezing cold winter, and an absolutely HUGE shopping mall. So guess where I was headed when I got a couple of hours free?

The only thing I was really keen on getting was a little something for the kids. I travel for work fairly infrequently and this is the longest I've been away, so I figured I'd have some making up to do when I got home. And boy, did I more than fulfill anyone's expectations!

Have I ever mentioned how much the kids (and, ahem their mother) love Star Wars? Well if you've ever been to our house you would know. Also if you've ever read this or this . Suffice to say we are all huge fans and when hubby's at sea we often save impromptu Star Wars Quiz Sessions during dinner to test each other's general knowledge, and they are closely-fought competitions indeed. Back to Houston; one fo the first shops I came across was Build-A-Bear, an old favourite from Singapore. The kids each have a toy from there - a bear for Niels called 'Beary' and a monkey who is officially called Triceratops Transformer but is now known as "Monkey" for Carl. Let's face it, in the originality stakes their name choices do let them down a bit. The coolest part about Build-A-Bear is that you get to dress your furry friends in some of the cool outifts they sell there, and they've just released a range of....Star Wars outfits! Above is Carl proudly showing off Monkey dressed as Captain Rex (from the Clone Wars series for those not in the know out there).

In the top picture he's also sporting a particularly cool set of Buzz Lightyear pyjamas, from the Toy Story 3 merchandise which is swamping Disney stores in the US at the moment. "To infinity and beyond...!" For Niels I found some very cool Phineas & Ferb sweatshirts AND the soundtrack on C.D., which is doubly-cool!

And finally, who could visit America in October and fail to notice the Halloween accessories? Here you see the boys drinking I.V. bags of blood (strawberry flavoured!) which I picked up to go with the collection of Frankenstein brains, Zombie body parts, and eyeballs from a local store.

In all a very successful shopping trip, which was topped off by a set of Star Wars cookie cutters and even a hand bag!! (SSShhhhhhhhhhhhhh!). But those aren't nearly as interesting as Zombie eyeballs.

Starry, Starry Night...

2010-10-28T12:48:00.008+02:00

Good God where does the time go? If I don't get my act together the month's going to end and my blog will be empty! It's been a hellishly busy month, with lots of fun things thrown in the mix to dilute the serious stuff. Top moment: my sister + hubby Anthony and daughter Tazmin arrived from New Zealand (via England, France and Belgium) to stay for a week. It's always great to have famiy visit and because her visit coincided with my kids having Autumn break, they were able to all hang out together and do cool stuff.
Niels went to heaven (a.k.a. Waterloo) and back; for months he has been crossing off the days until he finally travelled with his Dad to the great battlefield to meet up with his Uncle Anthony there. Anthony is also a history buff so the two of them were wildly enthusiastic about seeing the battlefield, and a great time was had by all.

Meanwhile Karen and her daugher Tazmin made their way up to Holland in their little rental car, where I finally met up with them in the forest near the Kroller Muller museum, of all places. What a surreal feeling; the last time we saw each other was when I waved goodbye at Tauranga airport; then there we were in the middle of a Dutch forest! Bizarre but great fun.

By the way this is my absolute favourite museum in Holland: if you're visiting the country you simply must go there for the wonderful collection of 19th and 20th centry art. The van Gogh collection alone is breath taking - the painting above, which hangs in the collection, was the inspiration for the song 'Vincent' (Starry Starry Night) by Don McLean. Outside is huge sculture garden with an amazing collection of permanent works, including several you can climb on.

If you're visiting in good weather the best way to visit the museum is to park your car at the entrace gate and grab one of the free white bicycles to cycle around this massive - flat - park. You simply leave your bike in one of the stands scattered throughout the park then pick up another one when you're ready to move on. There are several more fantastic places to visit in the park that Karen, Tazmin and I didn't have time to see, including the Museonder (Museum under the ground) which is all about nature in the region, and the former residence of the owners, Jachthuis Sint Hubertus.

Heading Off To The Pub

2010-10-06T22:26:00.002+02:00

Well, not quite, but sometimes I wonder if it's possible for kids of 6 and 9 years old to hit puberty. They have such big mouths! And think they know everything. Niels, being the oldest, is more of a challenge at the moment, but Carl will no doubt catch up. Last week he lost one of his top teeth, an event which seemed to play out in slow motion. Every day he's say "Mum, it's really loose, can't you just yank it out??" Whereupon I'd grab a tissue and try to pull said tooth out of his head. Repeatedly. Seriously, having boys means you get over your squeamishness real quick. That damned thing was so loose you could almost spin it 360 degrees but would it pop out? Would it hell.

His motivation was simple: money. Having announced at the beginning of the year that it was "impossible" that the tooth fairy existed, therefore obviously I was leaving the money in place of his tooth, every loose tooth has become a tool for negotiation. Exactly how much could he expect? Tonight he was having a 'shave' before hitting the bath and I couldn't resist getting a quick pic of him. 6, going on 26....

What's That??

2010-10-02T09:42:00.001+02:00

So I was sitting at the table having lunch with the kids a couple of days ago, when a flash of movement caught my eye. What was that? There was something strange...on the table outside....

At first when I stealthily approached, the foreign being darted down onto the bench and cunningly froze beneath the arm rest, doing a perfect impression of a piece of wood...

Punky Muffin! Once she realised she'd been busted she hopped back up onto the table and continued to eat the flowers there. This is her trade mark "yeah, whatEVER" look:

You might think the logical thing to do would be to move the bench so that she can't jump up on the table any more. Only thing is, it's much more fun watching her eat the flowers than it is looking at the flowers. So, go for it Punky!

My Martha Stewart Moment

2010-09-28T21:35:00.003+02:00

Ok if these were Martha's apples they would be artfully arranged in a professionally distressed looking crate with rustic sprigs of straw poking nonchalently out...and not a big black plastic bucket.

However, these are my apples, from my apple tree that I planted just 3 short years ago. And this is only half of them! We now have a freezer full of sttewed apple just waiting to be made into apple pie, apple cake, apple chutney.... enough to get us through the long, long cold winter.

Or at least half way.

Aint That The Truth!

2010-09-23T11:14:00.000+02:00

I just couldn't resist. See I Can Has Cheez Burger for more!

Now For Something Completely Different...

2010-09-20T10:31:00.007+02:00

As most of you know I'm the editor of a trade magazine focusing on nuclear power generation. No the most obvious choice for a journalist from New Zealand, but hey, it's an interesting field. People often wonder how dangerous it is to have a plant in your back yard; what if a terrorist decided to fly a plane into it like they did with the World Trade Centre in New York? Well, I'm not going to argue the pros and cons of nuclear power here, but you HAVE to watch this short video showing what happens when you fly a fully fuelled F4 Phantom jet at 800 km/hour into the side of a power station. Awesome! Just click on the link:

http://www.ktrh.com/cc-common/news/videos/player.html?mid=VIRAL/F4vsConcreteWall25.wmv&pimg=&redir=yes#

As the commentator says: "when dealing with nuclear material, no test can ever be too drastic".I hope the pilot had good life insurance! (haha)

Forest Adventure; Serious Stuff!

2010-09-19T09:02:00.000+02:00

Whether you're living in Singapore or just passing through, if you've got kids you have to take them to Forest Adventure at Bedok Reservoir. It's just scary enough to be thrilling, and the kids get such a kick out of doing it. There are two courses; one for smaller kids, and the other for anyone over 1.40 meters, so it's a great couple of hours out for any age group.

The courses are very well put together, strung high between the trees. Every section is different so there are plenty of challenges. Don't forget to book though; it can get busy and you may have to wait a while if you don't make a reservation. During the week of course it's much quieter.

One of the best bits is at the end, when the kids get to sail out of the trees on a flying fox, complete with blood-curdling yell, of course. Look out Tarzan!

Summits Up!

2010-09-15T08:00:00.000+02:00

Here it is; proof that we did indeed climb to the top of Mt Maunganui during our holiday in New Zealand.

Actually, 'climb' is a bit of an exageration, admittedly. There is a fantastic path all the way to the top, and although parts are steep it's easily do-able. Carl demonstrated this rather aptly by choosing to RUN all the way to the top. I plodded on at a stately walking speed. Oh, and before you think that's me in the photo above, it's actually my sister Christine (who hates her photo being taken) so you'll have to take my word that we look just as alike from the front as well!

It was a gorgeous day, and we were only 10 minutes into the walk when the boys stripped off their shirts and started running around in their singlets. Ahhh, winter in the Antipodes! Not a snow storm or treacherous stretch of black ice to be seen.....

Blue skies, even bluer seas....could there be more perfect winter weather??

So there you have it; two thumbs up for doing the summit walk up Mt Maunganui, and actually for everything we did on our holiday.

Classic Flyers Aviation Museum, Tauranga

2010-09-05T17:10:00.000+02:00

What would a holiday in our family be without a visit to an airplane museum? To be honest I didn't even realise there was one in Tauranga, although when we first landed and were leaving the airport Niels pointed out the window and said "hey look, an American World War 2 Wild Cat". And indeed it was, although he could have called it anything and I'd have agreed with him.

Classic Flyers Aviation Museum is actually two museums; the front part is a collection of modern and vintage planes, memorabilia and a samll shop, plus a pretty good cafe. A second hanger at the rear houses the Taurange Military Collection, formerly a private collection of military memorabilia.

With a few planes the kids were allowed to climb on and a wide range of exhibits it kept the kids busy for at least 90 minutes, plus there was a cute little playground which kept them busy for a futher half hour. The cafe and museum is rented out for private functions and it would be a great venue for a party. My sister Karen took us there, and probably thought it would be a quick visit; she has two girls, after all. By the time 45 minutes had passed and the boys were only half way through the exhibits she was getting an idea of what it's like to have boys!

If you're in the area and trying to entertain the kids on a rainy afternoon this place is definitely worth a visit. And they make a great Milo in the cafe.

Waimangu Volcanic Valley

2010-08-30T20:20:00.006+02:00

While on holiday we caught up with my Dad, who gave the boys a taste of some of the hobbies I enjoyed as a kid, such as shooting. Here they are having a look through the scope on his hunting rifle (with the bolt safely removed of course).

We also did another great walk which I thoroughly recommend; the Waimangu trail, located in the Waimangu Volcanic Valley 20 minutes south of Rotorua. Billed as ‘the world’s youngest geothermal system,’ it’s the only geothermal system in the world wholly created as the direct result of a volcanic eruption - the Tarawera Eruption of 10 June 1886. Dad had heard about this and done it before, and it was the perfect length for the boys.

The trail slopes gently down hill or is flat for most of its length, and takes about an hour minutes to reach the end at Lake Waimangu , from where you catch a bus back to the start. In the summer you can take a boat cruise on the lake and see even more geothermal sites.

It’s a fascinating place and much less touristy than most of the Rotorua geothermal sites; you have to pay but the very well maintained paths, sparkling visitors centre and lovely little café make it worth while. Then there’s the walk itself; this area is the site of the world famous pink and white terraces which were destroyed by the eruption of Mt Tarawera.

The trail takes you past lots of hot water springs, pool, and a few geysers, including the incredibly blue Inferno Crater, and Frying Pan lake. There are several ‘champagne pools’ which appear to fizz with volcanic gases rising up in tiny bubbles through brilliant green water. In all, a fascinating place well worth a visit.

Back again!

2010-08-30T20:11:00.005+02:00

Hello blogosphere! Yes I’m actually back again after taking a couple of months off. With a four week holiday planned, I needed to get through a mountain of work before heading to New Zealand …you can see when the shit hit the proverbial fan by the date on my last blog! After a month of blood, sweat, tears and narrowly met deadlines, I finally jumped on a plane with Niels and Carl and headed off to spend three lovely weeks in N.Z., followed by a week in Singapore where hubby joined us. Bliss!
We hit the jackpot with the weather this year; despite being winter in NZ, we were treated to absolutely gorgeous weather most of the time.
In an attempt to counter-balance the yummy kiwi food we nostalgically tucked into…I’m talking fish & chips, PILES of seafood, my sisters’ delicacies such as feijoa cake and home made sausages, not to mention loads of crayfish from my Dad…we tried to get and out to do some hikes, or at least long walks.
Since we were staying in Tauranga, a walk to the top of Mt Maunganui was of course a must-do. Carl made me feel both old and unfit by RUNNING to the summit, but the view was worth it (I'll try to post pics later). Blue skies that stretched to meet an aquamarine horizon…long white beaches and the scent of Manuka trees wafting on a warm breeze; remind me again why I ever left the country?! Tauranga was largely unchanged since my last visit, but the Mount seems to be sporting a couple of new apartment buildings, and it’s rumoured that the penthouse on one of them cost $5 million; a hefty sum in kiwi-land.
Oddly enough, 3 out of 4 members of my family had moved house since my last visit 18 months ago, so I spent a lot of time oooohing and aaaaaahing at new houses, squelching my envy at the space and sheer size of the houses which kiwis take for granted. Single level dwellings sprawl on massive sections, surrounded by gardens and lawns on all sides….no semi-detached properties with vertical staircases to be seen! And the views! Oceans and islands and native bush; literally a world apart from where I live.

The photos in this post are from the Karanghake Gorge Historic Walkway, a truly excellent walk which includes going through the railway tunnel in the gorge. My sister Karen has done it a couple of time and knew it would hit the spot with the boys and I. Taking about 1.5 hours, the walk starts just off the main road, with a swinging bridge skirting crumbling remains of the Victoria Battery site (above). You then walking along a narrow path following the Ohinemuri river for some distance, before crossing a steel bridge and entering the 1100 meter former railway tunnel. The tracks have been removed so the floor is more or less even, and initially lights are regularly spaced to provide an adequate - if dim - light. However about a third of the way in the lights stop, and you're walking in pitch blackness, aiming for the distant light of the far end of the tunnel. With the drip-drip-drip of water seeping through the rock for company, it's spookily creepy in a thrilling kind of way which kids just love. The final third of the tunnel is lit again, and from there it's not long before you cross over a high road bridge to loop back to the carpark. I thoroughly recommend this gem of a walk to anyone!

A final parting photo...this is Niels and his cousin Tazmin at Tauranga airport just before we left...but I've jumped forward three weeks and have lots more to tell, so come back soon!

The Beautiful Game?

2010-06-19T12:17:00.003+02:00

Quote of the week from Niels as we were cycling home from Scouts this morning:

"I thought the World Cup was going to be fun, but all anybody wants to do is watch the stupid football!"

I'm with you on that one, kid.

Amazing free-dive video

2010-06-13T16:50:00.006+02:00

This incredible short film shows world champion freediver Guillaume Nery on a special dive at Dean's Blue Hole, the deepest blue hole in the world. It was filmed entirely on breath hold by the french champion Julie Gautier. Dean's Blue Hole is located at Long Island, the Bahamas.

To enjoy the movie on full-screen, click on the 4-arrow symbol on the right of the tool bar under the video. Enjoy!

Small Wonders; Nationaal Tinnen Figuren Museum, Ommen

2010-06-08T12:05:00.002+02:00

In the picturesque town of Ommen is the most fantastic museum which I suspect is a well hidden secret to many people. The Nationaal Tinnen Figuren Museum (National Museum of Tin Figures) houses a collection of over 200,000 tin soldiers, animals, people, miniature landscapes...everything that you could possibly imagine, and all gorgeously painted. It looks like the whole world is represented in tin figures, and practically everything is just 3 cm high.

Most people, if they ever think of tin figurines, naturally think of tin soldiers but this collection is a real eye opener. From the royal court of Versialles;

...to the Arabian Nights:

...to Hannibal crossing the mountain:

...there was an incredible array of figures. And yes, of course there were soliders. Thousands upon thousands of them! In fact one room is entirely dedicated to the Battle of Waterloo, with a large recreation of the battle using 20,000 hand painted tin soldiers, horses, weapons, trees, buildings....everything you can think of. This is a detail of just some of them:

...and the Battle of Arne, which took place near Ommen a few hundred years ago when the farmers and peasants took on an army of Knights in protest over high taxes - and won - is also beautifully recreated:

As you can imagine, Niels was in his element. We went through the museum in an hour, went and had some lunch, then came back and spent two more hours there! And we could have stayed longer. This place is a treat for both kids and grown ups, and hosts several different exhibitions each year in addition to its own collection. The way the figures are displayed is also wonderful; entire landscapes or interiors are recreated in detail so you see the figures in context, and the skill involved in painting both the figures and the displays have to be seen to be believed. Check out the website (in Dutch and English) for information, or just to admire the photos. I seriously recommend it.

Splashing About

2010-06-04T08:00:00.000+02:00

As I mentioned before, Niels turned 9 a couple of weeks ago. By way of a party he invited 8 friends over and we took them all (in two cars) to a swimming complex in Haaksbergen, called De Wilder. It has a long water slide, several jacuzzis, a huge pool, whirlpool, etc and is the pefect place for kids to burn off their energy. After an hour and a half of swimming, climbing on the massive inflatable toys in the pool, shooting down the slide and swinging out into the water on a Tarzan rope we fed them some chips and then they were off for another hour or so. Perfect! Brithday parties in Singapore were always easy in that respect; down to the pool with some new toys and the kids were sweet for the duration.
By 4:30 they were all looking a bit tired so we herded the boys and girls off into the changing rooms. Yes there were girls present; for the first time Niels has invited girls! We had to stifle a laugh when he explained that he has a crush on a girl in his class. However he didn't invite her to his party because the boys in his class had teased him about liking her and he didn't want to encourage them! Ah, young love.

We had planned to get some photos of the pool party but we were (a) too busy and (b) too wet, so only ended up with this one:

But wait...who is that little Bhudda lounging there like a prince? Let's take a closer look...

Lucky 13

2010-05-30T22:04:00.004+02:00

Today is our wedding anniversary...13 years and counting. It's hard to believe the time has passed so quickly, and when I look at these photos we just seem so...well...young is the right word I guess! We were married in Vorden castle, with Holger and I travelling there in a carriage drawn by two beautiful Fresian horses. It was a gorgeous day; the fennel was blooming in clouds of tiny white blossom along the roadsides and as we clip-clopped through the forest on the way to the ceremony we felt like the only people in the world. Nervous, jittery, but so excited! After the ceremony, as we rode back through the woods the journey seemed so peaceful. Returning in the spring sunshine as man and wife, anything seemed possible and we felt very different to the people we had been just an hour before.

A lot has happened in those years of course, and we grew from a fresh faced couple to a family of four, moving away from Holland to Singapore and back again, changing jobs, buying a house, building up a life and home on the foundations of this one happy day. A lot of people think that there is no point in getting married any more, that if you're living together a marriage is just an expensive party and a piece of paper that doesn't make any real difference. However Holger and I feel completely differently about it. For us, getting married was the first step to building a life together, an opening chapter on 'us forever' rather than 'us until whenever'.

We may be a little older now, the wedding clothes may not fit quite as well and the faces are a little more lived in. But what we started that spring day has carried on and grown like a snow ball rolled across the ground and wherever we end up, we will look back and know that this is where it really began.

Happy 9th Birthday Niels

2010-05-16T21:55:00.004+02:00

The face says it all... It's hard to believe Number 1 is already nine. Next Saturday he parties with 8 of his friends in celebration, today was a family get together and, of course, presents!

Tabitha Spring Silk Fair; Mark Your Diaries!

2010-05-08T08:06:00.000+02:00

For those of you lucky enough to still be living in the steamy tropical shopping paradise that is Singapore, a highlight of your annual calendar is about to take place: the Tabitha Silk Fair. This is a fantastic event where you get the chance to purchase outstanding silk clothes, bags, home furnishings, etc for truly excellent prices, and all in the name of a good cause. Ladies, need I say more? I've blogged about this event before here if you want to see some photos.

As usual the fair will take place at The Shophouse, at 22 Lock Road in Gillman village. This year valet parking is available but in my opinion taxis are the best way to get to this location. You'll be so dazzled by the brilliant rainbow array of silks on offer who could possibly focus on driving afterwards! On Tuesday and Wedensday 11-12 May the Fair runs from 9am to 6pm, and on Thursday the 13th from 9 to 1pm.

On the Wednesday evening you can also attend a ticketed event to meet the Foundation Founder, Janne Riskes to hear her inspiring story and learn about the hundreds Cambodian of women and children helped every year by this wonderful organisation.

Check out the website Tabitha Singapore for full information, and take your credit card! Over 95% of the proceeds go directly to helping Cambodian families to earn a living and become self-sufficient.

Brushing up My Language Skills

2010-05-05T08:01:00.001+02:00

I've recently taken up doing crossword puzzles again. I've always loved doing crosswords, a passion no doubt insired by my Mum who is a crossword fiend and still is rarely undefeated. We've passed many an hour bandying clues backwards and forwards, filling in puzzles at home, on holiday, or wherever we happened to be.

At university when I shared a house with friends there was a friendly competitiveness to see who could finish the New Zealand Herald crossword first. While Sudoku can be fun to pass the time I'm really a word fan; I love that light-bulb moment when you suddenly find the one missing word that makes the whole puzzle fall together.

However since moving to Holland I haven't often indulged my penchant for puzzles, mainly due to a lack of English language ones in the stores. Take my word for it; as a native English speaker, doing crosswords in Dutch sucks almost as much as playing Dutch Scrabble. Just what are you supposed to do with all those w's and v's?

However I've been digging out puzzle books left over from Singapore lately in an effort to sharpen up my English a bit. Being editor of an English language magazine demands a certain proficiency in the language and lately I've had the feeling my vocabularly has reverted to that of an 8 year old.

It doesn't help that hubby speaks such good English; whenever he's home he will be in the middle of saying something then suddenly demand; what's the English word for fakkeloptocht, or gemeentebestuursleden, or grondwerktuigkundige. And he means RIGHT NOW, as in this second so he can drop it into the conversation. It's almost impossible to suddenly come up with the exact word or phrase on the spot and my feeble attempts have so often been met with snorts of derision that over the years my standard response has become "dunno". And I'm supposed to be the wordy one.

Lately I have the feeling that having to speak a different language most of the time is taking it's toll on my English. At work I have moments where I'm staring blankly at the screen trying to figures out a better alternative to a word I'm over-using in an article. My pet hate is 'increasingly'. As in: it's increasingly obviously that my language difficulties are becoming increasingly apparent to an increasingly large number of readers. See what I mean?

And now the kids have started. "Mum, what's the Dutch word for a Hun? What are hunnenbedden in English? And are the two related? Why are Egyptian and Egyptisch spelt differently?? And if February in English is spelt februari in Dutch, why is a leap year a schrikkeljaar and how do you spell it?"

Honestly, it's starting to do my head in. A while ago when Carl discovered the singular of boobies was boob he thought it was hysterical. He and Niels ran around the house for days springing out of doorways and surprising each other with yells of "you're a BOOB!" followed by shrieks of laughter. Hopefully the neighbours won't understand what that was all about.

Generation Gap

2010-05-02T08:00:00.001+02:00

My kids consider me to be an impossibly cruel, uncaring and dysfunctional mother for one sole reason: I refuse to buy them a Play Station. Neither do they have a Ninentendo DS or a Wii or any similar machines designed to suck out their brains and turn them into couch dwelling zombies. How often has Carl whined "but my friend xxxxxx has one! And his Mum lets him do ANYTHING!"

Do I think I'm a better parent because I won't buy them one of these toys? No, I don't. But I do believe that my particular kids - those incredibly active bouncy little boys who sometimes seem to be composed of dynamite, amphetamines and adrenalin bound together with a hefty dose of testosterone - are a lot better off without a Play Station.

However none of us lives in a vacuum and as a type of compromise I have bought the boys two plug-and-play games you connect straight to the t.v. The first is from Pixar and has four very cute and entertaining (the kids would translate this as BORING!!!!) games based on Toy Story and other kids movies. The other has a whole bunch of different games, all fairly low resolution and frankly kind of retro. Fortunately it doesn't have the high tech programing or graphic gore that seems to be chronically addictive and they don't get it out very often.

Yesterday it was pouring with rain and we were all a bit stuck for someting to do, so we sat down to play with this game. I've never bothered before because frankly gaming just doesn't interest me. So we were sitting there and as Carl scrolled through the menu I saw a space game. Suddenly I had a flashback to my own childhood; "hey, a Space Invaders game!"

They looked at me with blank stares and I realised with shock that there probably have been GENERATIONS of kids born who haven't heard that term. Anyway I sat down next to Carl and had a turn at the controls. Ten minutes later I was five levels up and my thumbs were starting to ache, but this was the most fun I'd had on a computer for ages. Niels was watching silently and when I finally gave up, rsi setting in to both hands, he nodded and looked impressed, then totally popped my bubble by adding "mmmmmm, not bad for a 39 year old mother."

It's Official; Spring Has Sprung

2010-04-28T21:22:00.003+02:00

Yes, I'm finally going to stop whining about the weather and enjoy the incredible explosion of life that is spring in Europe. It's my favourite time of year here, when the ice and freezing winds finally subside and a balmier breeze teases the flowers out of the ground, the birds out of hiding and suddenly the world is a much better and brighter place.

It's also a busy time of year for rabbits. No, I'm not talking about THAT, mine are all happily desexed although would you believe it they do still get a bit frisky. However I'm talking about the joys of digging holes (preferably in the middle of the lawn), leaping and frolicking (and sneaking into the house every ten minutes so our day is interrupted by shouts of 'Mum, there's a rabbit under the table!) and moulting. Endless, endless moulting in clouds of fluffy bunny hair that drifts through the garden and sticks to my clothes.

Being smooth-haired, Punky Muffin is a very efficient moulter and doesn't really seem to need any help. However Rocco, with his dense 3-5cm long hair needs all the help he can get and we usually spend a few hours on the lawn together in spring and autumn while I try to brush/comb/trim the excess hair and any knots away.

The good news is, bunny hair is the perfect material for making birds nests. After a half hour session this week which resulted in a veritable mountain of white fluff on the lawn, I stood inside and watched as sparrows, blackbirds, wrens and finches dived down to fill their beaks before swooping off to their little construction sites. It's a nice feeling to imagine all the local baby birds hatching into cosy warm nests lined with velvety soft, white fur. Now that's recycling!

Breakfast with Oma

2010-04-20T08:17:00.002+02:00

We have a little tradition in our house on the weekends when Holger is home (which have been rather few and far between recently). On a Saturday morning he gets up and goes to the baker to buy fresh bread for the weekend at about 8am, then stops and has breakfast with his Mum, who lives nearby, on the way back. The best part of this arrangement is not the fresh rolls we get to eat or the cosy chat he has with his Mum....it's the fact that he takes the boys with him. Yes, for a whole 90 minutes or so I have the house to myself and I get to SLEEP IN. To those of you who don't have kids this may seem a rather petty luxury but believe me, it's worth gold. Carl was 18 months old before he slept through the night and even now he wakes me/us up at least every 3rd night. So an hour and a half of wallowing in my bed pretending the day hasn't started yet is pure bliss. Even if I can't go back to sleep I refuse to admit the day has begun; I've got a warm bed and an empty, quiet house, and by God, I'm going to enjoy it!

Of course for the rest of the family it's also a nice start to the day and I'm sure that for the rest of their lives the boys will look back fondly on breakfasts spent with Oma and Opa. Niels maintains that Oma's peanut butter tastes better than ours despite being the same brand, but I suspect it's the undivided attention and the chance to eat a leisurely breakfast - outside under the hazlenut tree in summer - that have a lot to do with it! As scouts starts at 9:30 for Niels he is in uniform for breakfast, as you can see in these photos. Looking at the smiles on his and Oma's faces, you know that these are the kind of experiences that our fondest memories are made of.

Onshore-Swimming for Kika

2010-04-16T20:01:00.003+02:00

This week it seems the whole of Lochem has got behind the cause to raise money for the Kika Foundation. Kika stands for kids with cancer (which is called kanker in Dutch), and all of the primary schools in town have agreed to have fund raising activities. In addition lots of sports clubs, social clubs, music venues etc have gotten in on the act as well.

Niels and Carl's school decided to raise money by getting the kids to find sponsors for swimming. As Niels is of an age where he has school swimming once a week anyway this was fairly easy to organise. He was very proud of the 50 euros he found in sponsorship, and his whole class managed to raise 780 euros! For Carl who is in group 2, and the littlies in group 1, the teachers came up with the brilliant idea of 'dry swimming'. The marched in a parade out into the decorated playground, dressed in an assortment of swimming gear over their clothes. Accompanied by rousing music they took their places and each class then took turns to 'swim' around the playground with great enthusiasm.

Carl donned his tinted goggles and had a great time practising his back stroke, breast stroke, and treading water with his classmates and teacher.

At the end of the day the three group 1 and 2 classes together raised an astounding 945 euros! I don't know what the total for the whole school is yet, but it's certain to be a substantial sum for a worthy cause. Each kid was presented with a Dry Swimming Certificate to hang proudly on their wall - you can see Carl holding his up triumphantly above.

I'm Glad He's Not MY Man!

2010-04-08T20:44:00.005+02:00

Every now and again we will be sitting in the garden, enjoying the sound of bird song when another noise will gradually edge its way into our consciousness. A kind of breathy honking noise...what could that be? Sometimes it's so loud that we can hear it in the kitchen...a mysterious regular tooting. It always cracks us up because we know it's the melodius tone of Rocco snoring - yes, our bunny snores. Loudly. No doubt it's due to him being a lop, a breed which has a flat nose. The other day as he snuggled up to Punky Muffin and was snoring away louder than ever I suddenly had the foresight to grab my camera. So for those of you who don't share your lives with somebunny special, I present you with Rocco's lop-eared lullaby.
He's the brown and white bunny at the back. Punky is the fed-up looking black and white one in the foreground. Funnily enough she doesn't seem all that impressed...

The Hermitage, Amsterdam

2010-04-03T18:47:00.008+02:00

This Easter I am enjoying the luxury of temporary Empty Nest Syndrome; hubby and the kids have gone to Sweden to visit his sister and her kids, leaving me to sleep in the the mornings, read in bed for hours before finally turning out the lights, and wallowing in luxious hot bubble baths for as long as I want. While I do like visiting the family in Sweden I'm not sad to avoid returning to snow and cold; it's at best 2 degrees there at the moment and after such a long, cold winter I don't feel the urge to revisit it.
Not that the weather is much better here. Making the most of a couple of free days meant it was the perfect time to visit the Hermitage Museum in Amsterdam, which is currently hosting the exhibition Matisse to Malevich; Pioneers of modern art from the Hermitage. The top painting is Matisse's 'The Red Room' and it is truly stunning to see it on the wall. The painting above is The Dancers, depicting five women who seem to be almost struggling to burst out of the frame of canvas. Yet however wonderful Matisse is, it's the Kadinsky paintings which I love the most. The one below is rather unimaginatviely called Composition 6, but it was just breath-taking. If that's no your cup of tea, you surely couldn't fail to be amazed by his use of colour in the next one, titled simply Winter Landscape.

The story of how Russia's world famous Hermitage came to have a branch in Amsterdam is quite interesting. In the early 1990s Mikhail Piotrovsky, director of the State Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg, was exploring the possibility of having satellite museums in the West. The relationship between the Nieuwe Kerk (a catherdral in Amsterdam which hosts exhibitions) and the Hermitage had developed through the co-organisation of major exhibitions. As a result the director of the Nieuwe Kerk, Ernst Veen, had the idea of opening a branch of the Russian museum in Amsterdam, inspired in part by the tercentenary of the historic links between the two cities.
Around the same time, the Amstelhof nursing home decided that its buildings no longer met the standards required for modern care. For 324 years the building was a home for the elderly. The Parish of the Reformed Congregation, which owned the building, declared that the Amstelhof should have an exclusively cultural function. Veen came up with the idea of locating the Hermitage branch in Amstelhof. Since June 2009 the site has been home to Hermitage Amsterdam.

It's an impressive building with vast spaces flooded with light, pale wood floors and inimate rooms adjoining the main gallery. The scale of the huge old stone structure, which is a hollow square with a central green lawn, gives the exhibition the space it needs to be truly appreciated. And it's location on the banks of the Amstel is so quintessentially Dutch.

If you're in Amsterdam I really recommend the exhibition, although with the collection of the Hermitage St Petersburg as it's disposal, every exhibition is going to be a great one.

By the way you might think that a day in Amsterdam would turn out to be a long one - but in truth it was really cold and pouring with rain. I went into the Bijenkorf department store, remembering my last visit years ago with a frisson of antcipation, but was sorely let down. The layout of the floors was a mess, cheap SALE!SALE!ACTION! posters in lime green making me want to put on my sunglasses as hordes of people poured over sloppily constructed displays. The only good thing was they had an Apple shop, so I could get new skin for my iPhone to replace the original which was torn. So Bijenkorf was - ever so slightly - redeemed; aplace that has an Apple shop can't be all bad, right?.

Useful inventions #1

2010-03-21T11:39:00.000+01:00

Having given up hope of ever winning the lottery, I was pondering a few ideas this weekend that could turn into winners and produce the millions I’m sure, deep down, the universe wants to give me.

Here’s the first one: crotch protectors for women’s swimsuits! Awesome idea! I just know you’re all nodding your head in agreement!

In case there’s a woman reading this who doesn’t have a six year old child training for a swimming diploma who needs to practice swimming underwater for nine meters and then going through your legs, picture this. Standing spread-legged in the pool, your girly-bits protected by nothing but a thin piece of lycra, as a blond torpedo races towards you with wildly kicking feet. This invention would save me embarrassing myself (again) by looking like I’m clutching myself in the pool.
I can’t wait until he gets this damned diploma.

Niels 2nd piano recital

2010-03-08T19:19:00.004+01:00

Last night Niels music teacher called up to inform me that Niels second piano recital would take place at a different location. What piano recital?? Apparently Number 1 hadn't thought to mention it to me.
However he's been keeping up with his practice, so it wasn't too much of a drama. Here he is banging away on the ivories. It went well and he was a unphased as ever. A cool customer.

Hitting Puberty Young

2010-03-03T14:53:00.000+01:00

One of the coolest presents Carl got for his birthday - or at least the one that's so far been the most fun - was a kids shaving set. With a bottle of 'shaving foam' and a blade-less razor, he and Niels have been practising their techniques every night before bath time. In perfect imitation of their father, they spread the foam, run a basin of hot water ("if it's not hot it won't be a smooth shave Mum"), and proceed to remove their imaginary whiskers.

Lets' see if they find it just as much fun once they hit puberty.

Losing It

2010-02-26T20:05:00.000+01:00

I have been contemplating the nature of loss these past few days. Sometimes we don’t realize we’ve lost something, sometimes it may have just been misplaced, and sometimes when we lose things, they stay lost forever.
Hubby and I recently had our 12.5 year wedding anniversary. Now that is going to sound weird to anyone who isn’t Dutch, so let me explain. The Dutch have the rather quaint habit of celebrating their six-and-a-quarter, twelve-and-a-half, and twenty five year wedding anniversaries. The relevance of these dates escaped me entirely until my husband demonstrated just how important he thought they were in the most perfect way; he presented me with a diamond ring. Suddely 12.5 years assumed a whole new significance!!
Not just any ring either; one from my favorite jewellry designer, Georg Jensen, with three diamonds set in a white gold band. I like to think of the diamonds representing hubby, Niels and Carl, and I absolutely loved the ring the moment I saw it.
So we were talking about loss. Specifically the loss of things. Some things we don’t mind losing too much; a book that was boring, sunglasses that were scratched, a bike key when you know you’ve got a spare. Sometimes losing things is very inconvenient, such as a wallet or a mobile phone. And of course some things are really distressing to lose; your passport when on holiday, the address of an overseas friend….the diamond ring your husband just gave you.

That’s right. I was drinking my first cup of coffee last Friday when I glanced down at my hand and realized my ring was GONE. Disappeared. Vanished. In absentia.
Loss definitely sharpens your focus. Whereas the day up until that moment had been full of life’s background noise, plans of what to do and jobs needing to be done, suddenly all that disappeared as the world turned black and my brain imploded. The sane thing would have been to quietly and discreetly start looking for it. So obviously I immediately yelled “OH MY GOD WHERE’S MY RING??!!!!”, thereby alerting hubby to the fact that (1) I was a wife so careless that I would immediately lose the most expensive piece of jewelry he’s ever given me, and (2) quiet and discreet are clearly not my best character traits.
I won’t bore you with the following scene but you can imagine it. Frantic searching, enforced tidying of any place I had been in the last 24 hours, all made worse by the certain knowledge that this had happened because I had taken the ring off and left it somewhere. It couldn’t have fallen off, the fit was perfect. This was all my fault. I ended up flitting between the three locations in the house I keep hand cream; kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, certain that I must have taken the ring off to moisturize and forgotten to put it on again.
In the afternoon I had to go to work to doa telephone interview with someone in the US and I suddenly remembered: I have hand cream at work! The ring will be at work! It will be sitting on my desk or computer waiting for me!
Pushing visions of cleaners pocketing my ring as they dusted my desk to the deepest recesses of my pooling grey matter I sped into work…to bitterly discover it wasn’t there. Panic was replaced by those other buddies of loss…grief, frustration, and a feeling of literally being sick. My head was pounding, my stomach churning, and it seemed entirely possible I might cry. Pulling myself together I grabbed by digital recorder and sat down for the interview, trying to focus on the nuclear energy market instead of my ring, symbol of love and commitment, gone forever. I would like to be able to tell you that I rose above it, that I was able to put the loss of a thing into perspective; nobody was hurt, worse things happen, it could be replaced…but I couldn’t. A wise colleague who listened while managing to look both sympathetic and appalled (not easy) sagely suggested I go through yesterdays events backwards until I found the ring.
Hubby called to see if I’d found it, and about then I realised that sooner or later your body runs out of adrenalin and a good cry seems like the best option.
I slouched home to find he’d searched the house without success, but he was still putting on a brave face. I probably looked as bad as I felt so he kindly decided not to say anything. Remembering my colleagues advice I went up to the bedroom, pulled the covers off the bed (again), and was about to resume the search somewhere else when I thought to lift up the mattress...and there it was. Having left it on my pillow or the duvet the night before, the ring had slipped down between the mattresses. Relief, joy, more tears....and happiness that I won't have to wait another 12.5 years to wear a diamond ring on my right hand. Few feelings in life are as sweet as having rediscovered something loved, lost...and then found again.

Happy 6th Birthday Carl

2010-02-21T12:04:00.002+01:00

Yesterday Carl finally turned six. I say finally because for him the wait, the suspense, the seemingly infinite number of days before 20 February rolled around have been an agony. Every nght for the past month he's asked "how many days left now?" when I've put him to bed at night. How long a year seems when you're an almost-six-year-old. The excitement reached it's peak on Friday, the day when he could celebrate at school. I love the photo above - even though it's blurry and side-on you can see the smile that never left his face all day.

There's that smile again - this time he's standing on his chair while all the kids sing happy birthday, led by his beloved teacher Wilma. He went to school dressed as a pirate, because the treats he shared out were pirate cakes. They looked brilliant, and the idea is from a site called Party Kids. I ended up making 50 of these, 30 for school and 20 for Scouts!!

One compensation was that I didn't have to make the birthday cake this year; the local baker did the honours, producing a dinosaur-topped confection that fitted the bill. I'd had a brilliant idea at New Years when fireworks were being sold; why not save some sparklers for on top of the kids birthday cakes! So I dug out the box I'd hidden away and poked two into the top of the cake. They seemed rather large...we lit the candles and sparklers and started singing Happy Birthday. The sparklers fizzed, sputtered...and then ignitied into flares! Bright intense flames shot up into the air, producing clouds of smoke and a shower of fine ash which descended onto the cake. We quickly pulled the kids back and could only watch stunned as the pyrotechnic show continued. Hubby thought to open the door to try and get the smoke out and I was very glad I'd reminded him to disable the smoke detectors before hand. Once the flares finally fizzled out we removed the chunks of burnt wrapping, scraped off the worst of the ash and continued. The house was filled with smoke and our guests probably all thought I was a complete idiot. However the kids thought it was brilliant and will be asking for a repeat performance for Niels birthday. It had seemed like a good idea at the time...

Slip Sliding Away

2010-02-04T10:28:00.007+01:00

Winter just won't let up over here. Temperatures are not extremely low but the ground is still below freezing and wet snow topped with rain a copule of nights ago has reduced many roads, foot paths and bike paths to dangerous skating rinks.

The warmer temperatures also pose a risks to animals and people who have grown accustomed to being able to safely walk on frozen lakes and canals. Click here to see photos and a video (you'll have to endure a 15 second ad first) of a pony being rescued by the fire brigade after falling through the ice - fortunatley the story ended well and the pony survived. The importance of frequently checking on livestock is higher than ever and thankfully this pony's owner discovered him quickly before he literally froze to death.

Even if you choose to stay on dry land the risks at the moment are pretty severe. Today I dared to take the boys to school on their bikes for the first time - big mistake. We discovered that the roads are covered with black ice; an almost invisible layer of thick ice which is lethally slippery. Even walking and pushing our bikes was tricky. The local council seems to have given up even pretending to do anything about it so we're taking a risk every time we step out the door. I still had half a bucket of raw salt in the garage so I've just been out throwing handfuls of it on the cycle path. I snapped one brave kid trying to cycle through - I've seen 3 fall off this morning already (see top photo).

This next photo shows the corner of our street - it looks like there's just a bit of slushy snow and water on the cobbles but this is solid ice up to 3cm thick in some places. I couldn't even walk over it when I went out to take the photo:

In this photo taken further up the street you can get a better idea of how much ice there is; what looks like white snow on the street is the uppermost surface of a thick layer of ice, roughened by traffic but no less slippery. Again, you can't walk or cycle over this at all (I've seen plenty of people pushing their bikes with long faces) and driving is risky.

I heard on the radio that between mid-December and mid-January, 17,000 people have been treated at hospital for injuries caused by falls. That's so many it's worth repeating: SEVENTEEN THOUSAND! The cost of all those accidents is around 6 BILLION euros, money which the insurance companies will recoup from all of us. So why aren't the councils salting the paths and cycle-ways? Because apparently they only worry about the roads, and by now, as you can see, plenty of them are not salted at all. There are several companies in Holland that produce salt, even one only about an hour away, but they simply can't keep up with demand despite operating at 100% capacity. Normally there are 20 days in the year when roads are salted; this year it has had to be done every day since mid- Decmeber.

It also doesn't help that so many people fail to clear the snow from the paths outside their houses, so it eventually becomes compacted into ice. Our rather uninspiring Prime Minister went on t.v. to declare that it was every citizens civic duty to keep the footpaths running alongside their properties free of snow and ice; and then showed hmself up for the dork he is by completely failing to doing so outside his own house!

Thousands Protest Against Global Warming...

2010-02-01T12:59:00.001+01:00

...well, you've gotta laugh, right? No point keeping on grumbling about the endless snow...(mumble mumble groan)...

On Yer Bike

2010-01-24T09:42:00.000+01:00

Every country has it's quirks and things that make you say "oh, that is so typical", and anyone who has been to Holland will know that bicycles are quintessentially Dutch. Not only is it almost competely flat here, but the locals are, as they say "born with a bike between their legs" and it's not uncommon for kids to start cycling as young as 3 or 4 years old. Bikes have right of way on the roads, there are dedicate bike lanes absolutely everywhere, and they even have their own mini traffic lights. There is no law requiring anyone to wear a helmet, but laws regarding having working lights and reflectors are quite strictly enforced by the police.

Singapore, for all its charms, is NOT a great place for cyclists. The traffic is too busy and there are no bike lanes, so our kids had a bit of a late start, with Carl only coming to grips with the whole idea once we'd moved back here.

Cycling is a great way to get around. Not only is it healthy - I credit it with the very noticeable lack of obesity and osteoporosis among the Dutch - it's also good for the environment compared to using your car and much more convenient in town. You don't need to worry about parking, you can stop right outside the shop you need to go to, and any purchases go straight into the saddle bags. And the bikes are so comfortable! None of your butt-spltting 10 speeds or neck twisting mountain bikes. I have a padded gel saddle soft enough to sleep on and the bikes are constructed so you sit upright in comfort. Accessories include child seats, trailers for kids, dogs or even bunnies (Liesbeth!), briefcase racks, double standards for stability, sprung 'arms' for attaching a dog leash, baskets...you name it, the Dutch will have it for their bikes. Bikes with wooden carts on the front, bikes with motors for old people, bikes with 3 wheels for those who are unsteady on the feet...
Good bikes however don't come cheap. Way back when I bought my bike (the first new bike I'd owned in my life) in 1997, I paid 1,000 guildens for it. It's a sign of how old I am that the currency doesn't even exist now, but it's about 500 euros. And I bought INSURANCE for it, another quirky Dutch thing. Also, it's common to get your bike serviced, just like a car! It makes sense when you use it so often but for me arriving from NZ that was a concept I had to get my head around. Today you can easily spend 1,000 euros on a bike. The red one below, from De Fietsfabriek in Amsterdam, will set you back 1,295 euros. That's about NZ$2,600, enough to buy a small car! Of course there is a roaring trade in second hand bikes, but even so, Carl's 2nd hand bike cost 150 euros. And we don't even live in the Western part of the country in a big city where things are expensive. Ouch.

I have seen Cloggies carrying the most amazing things on their bikes, happily cycling with one hand while in the other clutching umbrellas, large boxes, paintings, even a LADDER! If one of our bikes needs to go into the shop for repairs, hubby cycles along holding onto the other one with his right hand (I call it taking a bike for a walk) and heads off into town with two bikes! I tried it once and nearly broke my neck so that's definitley his job.

There are few things that will keep a Cloggie of his or her bike, but the recent cold weather was an exception. As my friend Jeanette said, "you know it's REALLY icy when you see a Dutchman pushing his bike". As the snow became compacted and turned to ice the conditions were treacherous, particularly on cobbled streets like those here in Lochem. They may be cute, and some spots no doubt date well back into the towns 1,000 year history, but icy cobbles will break your leg or twist your ankle in a moment.

Fortunately hubby had the brilliant foresight to fit winter tyres on the car this year, big fat beasties that miraculously soften as the temperature drops to grip the icy roads better, with a profile so deep you could lose a shoe in it. I keep hoping I'll get rid of the neighbours yappy dogs with them, that we'll be removing the winter tyres and say, "hey, what's that stuck in the profile? Oh, it's that pomeranian we used to hear barking all day. Ah well..."

Oh, Well That's Ok Then...

2010-01-20T10:30:00.005+01:00

What a busy, busy week. Sometimes life seems to speed up to the point where you're just hanging on by your fingernails, then slows down so quickly you're left broken and bent in a pile of rubble trying to get back to normal.
Last week I had a business trip to Paris to interview the CEO of a company for my magazine, Focus on Nuclear Power Generation. And while business travel is usually far from glamourous, there is a lot to be said for popping off to Paris for a day or so. Even the journey there is an experience, ensconsed in the plush seats of the Thalys (ta-lease) hi-speed train. We whizzed from Rotterdam to Paris in about two and a half hours; in fact on the return trip we were scheduled to arrive at 18:01 and we arrived at......18:01! How's that for punctuality? The trip from Rotterdam to Zutphen actually took longer. Paris was lovely as always although I was there and back in 24 hours, having dined at two excellent restaurants on the Rue de St Honore; the Coup d'etat for dinner (lovely canard confit), and the apparently famous Le Petit Machon for lunch the next day where I dined with the marketing manager for the company I was visiting on brioche stuffed with a pork sausage studded with pistachio nuts. Heavenly!
Back in Holland on Wednesday, hubby was shipping out to Singapore on Thursday (lucky bugger) for which I helpfully provided a very long and detailed shopping list. The boys also had a list which necessitated him making a quick trip to Sentosa Island to visit the gift shop located inside Fort Siloso (they have very specific wishes - Niels even knew which SHELF Daddy had to look on for just the right plane!), then he was onto an FPSO and off to China. Saturday saw the beginning of Carl's overnight scout camp, the Kids & Science Spectacular.

It was a lot of fun, with the kids being kept busy with science experiments for two days. They were well fuelled on bizarrely coloured food like blue pancakes (see above) and bright green spaghetti sauce (which unfortunatley looked like cow shit), which no doubt contributed to the two hours of hyperactive pillow fights and matress-diving before they finally passed out. Ah, what a week of culinary contrasts this has been! The 12 or so parents also got to sleep on the floor in the Scout Hut, and while it was very roomy and well heated I'm such a light sleeper that this is a situtation in which there is zero chance of me ever falling asleep. So I got to watch the hours tick by until finally 6:30 rolled around, the kid started stirring and I figured I could go and have a shower to freshen up. Needless to say we were all pretty tired.
On Monday night Carl must have sneaked into my bed in the middle of the night and then passed out into a deep, deep sleep. I was woken by him stirring next to me and opened my eyes blurrily to see him looking at me.
With less than the optimal measure of grace I snarled: "What are you doing in my bed?"
He looked a bit shame-faced and replied: "I peed in the night"
Feeing a bit sorry for him - this hasn't happened in a very long time - I said: "Well I hope you put on a clean pyjama before you climbed in here."
At which point he brightened up considerably and announced: "Oh that's ok, it was your bed that I peed in!"

It's For The Birds

2010-01-12T11:38:00.000+01:00

Snow is pretty but spare a thought for the animals out there who have to live in it. I always worry about how the wild rabbits, birds and other animals get on when the ground is frozen and there doesn't seem to be any food around. I guess it's natures way of weeding out the weak ones but it seems very harsh. Fortunately the birds, at least, get a helping hand. Most people here have bird feeders in their gardens, and we are no exception.

Yesterday I bought some special food for birds such as robins and wrens who normally eat insects and who don't seem to be able to eat the fat-balls and seeds which most shops sell. The result was almost instantaneous; black birds joined in the feeding frenzy and it was amazing how many different birds visited the garden in the half hour I was watching.

In addition to the wrens, blue tits, sparrows, robins and others I can't name, I was surprised to see a black and white woodpecker briefly sit in the magnolia tree. He was soon gone in a flash of scarlet from the bright feathers under his tail, but about 10 minutes later I spotted his larger green cousin in the neighbours garden. Green woodpeckers are not very common so it was a treat to be able to watch one for so long. It's hard to see him clearly in the photo - I've circle him in red -and I didn't dare get any closer in case I disturbed him, but he's there if you look closely.

Happy New Year!

2010-01-10T10:53:00.006+01:00

Happy New Year blogosphere! I know it's a bit late, but I figure that since we're all just getting around to starting work again you probably haven't bothered checking this site for a while anyway. Now that the silly season is behind us it's time to sit back, ease that belt open by a further notch (you know you ate too much too!) and reflect.
This was an unusual Christmas for us. My mother-in-laws partner was knocked of his bicycle by another cyclist and ended up with a fairly serious head injury. Fortunately he's recovering well but it was a shock for everyone. We were buried in snow again...and again...and again...and in fact I've just finished shovelling the latest 15cm fall from the paths outside. We've never had so much of the white stuff!
Hubby was scheduled to come home on December 4th, but of course there was some cock up which meant he couldn't get off the vessel until the 27th by which time all the excitement had calmed down. And through it all I had a stinking cold and just couldn't seem to get enough sleep. At one stage I drove my mother in law to the retirement complex where her partner lives to collect his mail. It's a nice place, with about ten large apartments and the average age of the tenants must be close to 80. I was waiting for her downstairs when I started coughing and couldn't stop. In the end she got me a cup of water from a lovely old lady who lives there and they were all hovering around looking concerned - I was the youngest one there by about 40 years but they seemed to be in better shape than me! The next day I went to the Doctor and discovered I had pneumonia - which explained a lot. A dose of antibiotics seemed to clear it up but it was back a week later, so I'm still popping pills to make sure it's well and truly gone.

This is starting to turn into a bit of a whine so let's move on to the good stuff. The boys and I went and picked out a tree at a local farm, luckily before the first snow fall (little known Dutch tradition; dragging in 10 kg of snow on your tree then watching it melt all over the carpet for the rest of the day).
Christmas morning meant the boys could finally open their presents and at last I - oops I mean they - could play with their spectacularly cool new Star Wars toys. I'd seen the Millenium Falcon on a website months ago. When it arrived the box was HUGE so we had to hide it in the garage all this time. Carl's AT-TE (from the Clone Wars movie for all you fans out there) was only slightly smaller so it's a relief to have some wardrobe space again. Needless to say they boys love these toys- that look on Niels face translates to "hurry up and take your stupid photo so I can play with this NOW".
Despite the snow, family upsets and ongoing pneumonia Christmas was, as always, a lovely time spent focusing on family and friends. Once hubby got home we also did some cool stuff with the kids...but more about that next time.

Snow, Snow, Snow

2009-12-27T08:04:00.001+01:00

At last, the snow is finally melting. I may sound like a party pooper but by the time you're down to the last few patches of snow on the ground, very little of it is still white and I've grown very weary of trying to brush grey sludge off the kids clothes before they come inside.

Ok, snow is lovely for the first few days, even a dedicated summerphile like myself will admit that. Once it started it seemed the snow would never stop, drifting down first in tiny pin-pricks of white then developing into big fat fluffy flakes. It was so light that it was possible to scoop up a whole snow-shovel full of the stuff at a time; I know because I had to dig the car out. Several times.

We were puzzled to hear the distinct roar of a tractor motoring around the house at one stage, and looked out the windows to see a snow plough clearing the roads outside, a very rare sight for us. It returned twice more during the day to try and keep the roads clear. It failed.

One bright side was the we had fitted winter tyres on the car just 48 hours before - a brilliant bit of foresight for which I would like to claim the credit. If only it had been my idea!

The bunny bungalow has been winterised with sheets of plastic, an extra thick layer of shredded hemp on the floor and the boudoir filled with a bale of fluffy straw to keep them warm. I also had the brilliant idea of buying a large covered cat litter box, filled with an inviting pile of tasty hay (in 2 different flavours) and a snug base of hemp to keep their bottoms warm. I removed the swinging door and it looked so inviting, just like a warm little cave, that if I was small enough I would have crawled in there myself. The bunnies took one look at it, voted to completely ignore it, and prefer to sit in the cold snow instead. Typical.

Our Piano Maestro

2009-12-24T21:39:00.002+01:00

Some time ago hubby and I decided to enrol Niels for piano lessons. At 8 he's a good age to start, and we were both keen for him to take up a musical interest. We both had piano lessons as kids; hubby for a couple of years and I had lessons from 7 to 17 years of age, and I still love to play today. In fact a few years ago I shipped over the piano I learned on from New Zealand when my Mum shifted houses; she didn't want to keep it any more and it's a nice piano, and I'm quite attached to it. This summer I had the interior mechanism fully refurbished, a costly job but one which will last it for another 25 years or so. Built in 1939, it's a Wilma, originally made in London and now having travelled from the UK to New Zealand and back again by ship before being trucked over to Holland, it's a well travelled instrument!

I digress. While Niels had initially been reasonably open to piano lessons, the day that the teacher rang up to tell us what time to turn up he threw a huge hissy fit and we had our biggest argument EVER. And that's some record, let me tell you. He screamed, and ranted, he wailed, he jumped up and down on the spot, and every door in the house was slammed at least once. We were the worst parents in the world ever, possibly the universe, cruelly re-living our childhoods through torturing our first born son with the agony of a musical education. How Could We???

By the time lesson day rolled around Niels and I had reached an impasse. Waiting on the hard plastic chairs outside the lesson room, Niels stared stonily at the scuffed floorboards of the former church, refusing to speak to me, much less look at me. The minutes ticked by, interrupted only by the faint twanging of a kid getting guitar lessons in some back room. Suddenly the door burst open and the music teacher strode in. Niels face was a picture; having expected a grey haired old lady smelling of mothballs and cat piss, he was so stunned to see a young man with longish hair wearing a black t-shirt that his mouth literally dropped open. Mr Andro introduced himself with a big smile and swept Niels, who by this time had a goofy grin on his face, into the room. I sat through the first lesson amazed as Niels rattled off lists of questions; what do the pedals do? Why has this piano got 3 pedals instead of 2? Could he play rock music? Would he always be his teacher and was he interested in adopting an 8 year old boy?

As we walked back to the car, Niels bouncing like a squirrel that's just downed a can of Red Bull, I couldn't help but smile at the transformation and offer up a silent prayer of thanks to all the Gods that exist for Mr Andro. When Niels got home he raced up to Carl and yelled "It's so cool, my piano teacher is a DUDE!"

He's loved his lessons ever since, is more than keen to play for family and friends, and recently had his first 'recital' together with other students from the music school. Enjoy.

Like A Fish In Water...

2009-12-19T10:38:00.006+01:00

Being such a water-logged place - two thirds of the country is below sea level after all - in the Netherlands kids are expected to learn to swim at an early age. There is a national system of swimming lessons in place whereby kids can gain three diplomas; A, B and C. In theory no child is allowed to swim in a public pool without some sort of floatation device unless they have achieved the minimum qualification, the A Diploma.

All well and good, after all there are canals everywhere, and in fact our neighbourhood is ringed by 3 canals, the closest of which is only about 20 metres away, so being able to swim is pretty important. Canals, you may have noticed, are not fenced, and nor are the thousands of other bodies of water in the country and you need to be able to get yourself out, or stay afloat long enough for someone to help you out. According to the statistics about 20 young children drown each year in this country, and it is in fact the leading cause of death in boys aged 2-5, although most drownings happing around the house in fish ponds. Still, swimming is an important activity to learn to be safe, have fun, and be confident around water for the rest of your life.

Having lived in Singapore's tropical climate, confidence around water is not a problem for our two little water rats, who swam literally every day unless there was a thunderstorm when we lived there. Niels had his A,B and C diploma at age six, which is pretty good. Lessons involved the Mums' gathering around a luxurious outdoor pool at the Maplewoods Condo, drinking melon juice or cappachino under the palm trees while a sun-tanned instructor taught the kids in groups of 4 or less. Not a bad way to fill an afternoon!

Carl had only just started lessons when we left, and once we arrived back in Holland we enrolled him here and carried on.

Ask any parent what they think of swimming lessons in the Netherlands and the response is invariably a rolling of the eyes and a long groan. With one 50 minute lesson per week, in groups of at least 12 kids, supplemented by however often you go and practice, it takes around a year - usually longer - for your child to get their A diploma. A year of getting them to the (indoor) pool in rain, hail or snow, waiting around in what feels like a chlorine gas filled green house, getting them showered, dressed and ready to go back outside with however many layers of clothing the season dictates. Finally, last month, the moment had finally arrived; Carl swam his test and was awarded his diploma. Of course he also expected a silver cup just like Niels got when he got his A diploma, a little extra thing we do because after trying so hard we feel the boys deserved it.

A bonus was the Carl had managed to sit his diploma the day before he got his tonsils out, perfectly timed because he then wasn't allowed to swim for two weeks. I enrolled him in the classes for his B diploma and expected another few months of lessons before he got that. However last week, after just 3 lessons since getting his A diploma, he was told he could alreaady have a shot at the next one; and last night he passed it! So two diplomas at 5 years old, not bad at all. Now just the 'C' to go...

Ryanair from Dusseldorf May Not Be What You Think

2009-12-14T12:21:00.001+01:00

Below is an email from one of my Dutch colleagues, Mr Jan Dierperink, who suffered through something which was unfortunate for him, yet fortunate for us because the way he describes it is brilliant, and if you know Jan you can hear almost his voice as you read . Read, laugh, and if you're ever flying out of Germany, learn! Published with Jan's permission, of course.

"Dear colleagues
As u maybe know, we should've gone to Barcelona this weekend, but at the moment I am at home and typing this email, so u can feel sorry for me and pls dont laugh, ok?
Why? I will explain below.
I booked a cheap flight and cheap hotel for a weekend with my wife, without the kids and yes I really looked forward to it. So as usual we had to pack our stuff at the last minute, that means friday night and after some hours the alarm told me that it was time to wake up and get ready for the travel to Dusseldorf airport.
We were in a really good mood, me and my wife, she spoke a lot and me listening as usual haha, and in the car we checked several times, if we had passport and tickets and yes it seemed we didnt missed anything. I'd printed out the floorplan of the parking place at the airport so all looked really good, we were in time, one and half hours before boarding time and we took the monorail from parking place to airport, still in a good mood.
When we arrived in the departure hall we looked at the monitors , trying to find our flight. Bit strange that we couldnt find our flight, we should leave at 9.25 am to Barcelona but only flight on the f***king screens was Air Berlin to Munich, bit strange for us so we went to a nice old guy from the info desk and asked him very polite, dear sir can u tell us which we gate we have to go for the flight to Barcelona? He answered with : this is Dusseldorf airport, we answered, yes we also know dear sir, then he replied, you are at the wrong airport, you have to go to Dusseldorf Weeze, 100 km back, nearby Kleve.
At that moment I thought, jesus man you look very ugly, then he went on with his story and said your plane will leave in 1 hour and Ryanair is very strict so you're not gonna make it. Then we both thought, shit you become even more uglier than one minute ago. He went on talking but we ran away and took the stupid monorailback to the car and tried to find the way to Dusseldorf Weeze airport.
I drove at 180 km over highway, while Ineke sat on the seat next to me . She had a brillant idea to take some clothes out of suitcase, coz we didnt had time to check in the suitcase, people who travel with me know that I always have to open my suitcase when I am at customs.
So Ineke was sitting with her ass to the front screen and me driving like mad over the German highway, I only saw the dashboard for the speed, some German cars and the ass of my wife. After picking the clothes from our suitcase of 15 kg she had two little handluggage bags of less than one kg. For me only a shirt, beachshorts and one piece of underwear, she of course had more but ok, at the time I didnt know.
Must be a wierd view for the German drivers, a Dutch car at highspeed and a woman with her ass to the front screen but ok, I didnt care.
Almost within one hour we arrived at Dusseldorf Weeze airport. While I dropped my wife off so she could run to the check in desk I put away the car at the parking and took my little bag with all my stuff (pffff) and also ran to the departure desk.
When I arrived I saw my wife smiling; it meant she said we are just in time and then we run to the checkcontrol, imagine all passengers with suitcase only us with 2 small bags, still had to take off my belt and put all stuff in bag for the control, but all seemed good. We asked again which gate we had to go and it was gate 4. We saw still people standing there so I thought I can go to toilet quick and my wife went for quick cup of coffee. When I came back I saw , this is not gate 4 but 7 and gate 4 was all empty only two stupid Ryanair girls waiting. So I ran to my wife and shouted hurry we have to go! Of course the bankcard for paying wasnt working so took a while and then we ran to those two stupids girls and said and showed them our boarding cards.
All looked good, then one of them start to talk - I still hate her - we just took away the stairs of the plane, sir. We answered polite, well dear girl , then u put it there again, coz we want to go to Barcelona, not possible the b*tch said, I just gave the pilot the number of passengers and we took away the stair. At that moment I wanted to take away her smile of her face and to replace it with the f*king stair. But she didnt allowed us to go to the plane and all we could do was to go back.
At that moment I thought , wow why all German people in this airport look sooooo ugly. We were both in shock coz we missed the plane by just 3 minutes and Ryanair didnt help us or give us any service. All we could do was to book next flight for 100 euro per person and on the next day. We said, just put the tickest in ur a** and we drove home very sadly.
We arrived home at the same time as the flight arrived in Barcelona but the only thing it was without us.
Needless to say that our Saturday was not that good as we both expected. Of course soon we got calls from our "friends" who knew already about our stupid mistake but I couldnt laugh at that moment.
All the way back from airport to the Dutch border I thought, Germany is always raining and dark, and all people we saw were ugly too.
Anyway, now you know the reason why I am at my desk again, so if u still feel sorry but also want to laugh at me, well then you know how to find me but at least bring me a nice cup of coffee, then i will drink and you can laugh at me, deal?
I feel bit stupid when typing this but ok it was our own fault, needles to say that I still dont like the nice old guy from the Dusseldorf International airport and also will not recommend those stupid Ryanair girls to my sons.
Maybe also needless to say that , when we had coffee at that stupid airport and saw the plane leaving, I was happy that i didnt had a gun with me to blow it out of the air......
See you all in office again....................."

　

Sint-ilating Days Indeed

2009-12-12T22:00:00.000+01:00

To be honest I had considered just not blogging about Sinterklaas this year – it comes around every year and frankly by the time it’s finally over the relief is so overwhelming I can barely bring myself to write about it. However, no account of life in the Low Countries would be complete without mentioning the month of hysteria, mayhem, sleepless nights, over-tired whining kids, highly sugared foods and bone-achingly powerful sense of anticipation we’ve survived through.

The celebration of Sint’s birthday starts with his arrival by steamboat from Spain, accompanied by hundreds of Black Pete’s (like Santas little helpers on speed with better costumes and a healthy dose of naughtiness thrown in). For a more detailed explanation see my previous blogs on the subject, here and here. Once he officially arrives in the country during a televised day of fun, Sint then spends the next week sailing into every city, town and village in Holland on a variety of steamboats, magically appearing in many different places on the same day. How odd.
He appears at every school; the Sinterklaas Journaal news program is broadcast every night on t.v.; every event from Scouting to Market Day is brightened with a liberal scattering of Petes and a Sint.

It’s also open season for the kids; they are allowed to put a shoe by the front door every few nights, accompanied by suitable bribes such as carrots and apples for Sints’ horse, a drawing, a hand written wish list, or even beer for the lucky errant Pete who may have fallen off the wagon. It is a stressful job, after all. In the morning sweets and/or a little present will have magically have appeared, a practice which really should be stopped because it just encourages the little blighters and can you imagine how many little gifts etc have to be found throughout the ensuing three weeks and by whom???....I digress.

Finally, on December 5th, the Big Day arrives. This year, early in the evening on December 4th the phone rang and a deep voice asked to speak to Carl. Taking the phone in a hand sticky with the remnants of the chocolate Sint he’d found in his shoe that morning, Carl’s eyes grew rounder and rounder, his mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ of amazement and he turned to me and announced in a voice husky with shock “It’s…..SINTERKLAAS!!!” Indeed, the good man himself had rung to make an appointment for the next day, and would it be convenience to pop by? Barely able to squeak out a “yes”, Carl handed the phone to Niels who by this stage was literally bouncing from foot to foot, face red with excitement. He breathlessly asked Sint, in his very best Most Polite Little Boy in the World Ever voice, if he would bring a Pete or two as well please??
You can imagine how much – or how little – sleep was had that night. The next day Sint and his official entourage arrived at 4pm sharp, bearing the big red book of secrets and two large gifts. The boys were amazed at the depth of Sint’s knowledge of Scout groups, school classes, hobbies they enjoy and swimming diplomas recently gained…was there no end to this man’s wisdom?? All too soon it was over, time to open the presents. More amazement; how could Sint possibly have known that Carl LOVES Transformers more than life itself and that Niels would practically passout from joy at the WW1 model airplane kit?
Now that it’s all over, we’re looking forward to two little boys sleeping through the night once more, sugar levels lowering from pre-diabetic to something akin to normal and the ceremonial burning of wish-lists. And if you're wondering what I've been doing every evening since hubby went back to sea...just take a close look at Niels present and, I beg you, have some pity for me. At least life is returning back to its normal routine.

But wait…isn’t there something else happening towards the end of the month??....

Slippers

2009-12-07T18:48:00.001+01:00

Now that it’s starting to look like winter really is about to start, I’ve started hunting for slippers. You’d think that this wouldn’t be difficult, but have you seen what’s available out there?? If you eliminate the fluffy, the impractical, the pink, the prissy, and the downright ugly, the list is very short my friends. Very short indeed.
Currently I’m swishing around in my last pair of embroidered blue silk slippers I picked up in China Town, Singapore, during the Chinese New Year celebrations, but they won’t last forever and frankly despite having a high drop-dead gorgeous factor, they aren’t exactly warm.
Today I wandered through a couple of shoe shops in Zutphen looking for something wearable. I spotted some Ug Boots – if you’re not an Antipodean you probably call them sheepskin boots – and out of sheer nostalgia picked one up and looked at the price tag. Holy shit, I kid you not; they were 149 euros!! We used to slop around in Ug boots as kids on the farm, back when they were fashionable the first time around (yes I’m that old). I’m embarrassed to admit to actually having worn these outside of the house on several occasions, apparently convinced I was making a bold fashion statement rather than looking like a Neanderthal twit.
Mind you, I was tempted to order these Play Boy slippers from Amazon, not because they would be practical or functional or even comfortable, but simply because left unattended in a corner they would remind me of several real house bunnies I’ve had in the past, trying to look inconspicuous while actually plotting to chew through the telephone cable or strip the wallpaper.

On the website they are right next to the ‘Bedroom Athletics Women’s Muffin Slipper’- now if that isn’t a name created to grab your attention, I don’t know what is!
What I really want is for the companies who make kids slippers to start turning them out in adult sizes. I mean check out these Dr Who slippers; who wouldn’t want a matching pair of Daleks on their feet??

What about these ‘Junior Dare’ slippers – I would TOTALLY answer the door wearing these!

And how about these froggy ones…how cute are these?

Come on slipper manufacturers, you're missing out on catering to a major market segment!

Pointy Bit Up Please

2009-11-24T18:17:00.001+01:00

Winter is fast approaching here in Cloggie land, although the unseasonably mild weather is giving us all a false sense of security about how bad the winter may be. One of these days we’re going to wake up to find the car is frozen to the driveway and I’ll have to chip my way in with a pickaxe, but in the meantime we’re practically basking in temperatures around 10-13 degrees C. However the short days mean it’s time to get out into the garden for a last rummage in the dirt, and in Holland, the land of tulips, that means it’s time to plant flower bulbs.
Now let me start by saying that although I enjoy gardening and getting a bit muddy, I can quite confidently say that I’m a fairly crap gardener. My plants don’t flourish; they limp along until a season changes enough for them to flop limply in relief at not having to pretend they will ever live up to the promieses on their labels. The soil around our house is awful – any topsoil was strip-mined and sold off by the developers – and the borders are characterized by either endless shade or desert-like over exposure to the sun.
However these factors haven’t deterred me from spending money on new plants like a pro, and hope, if not my garden, sprouts eternal. In this respect, bulbs are the perfect plants for me. You just chuck them in the ground, do nothing for a few months, and hey presto, you have flowers in the spring time.

I clearly remember the very first time I planted bulbs (yes really). It was back on our farm near Matamata, in the North Island of New Zealand. We had a fairly large fruit orchard next to the house, which my Dad had rigged with a lethally impressive electric fence system. Wires running along the base of the fruit trees were cunningly arranged at just the right height to allow the resident sheep to nibble the grass around the base, but not chew on the tree trunks. Over time the sheep actually learned to stand on their hind legs to reach the lower branches, and it wasn’t unusual to look out the window to the very odd sight of what appeared to be a flock of dancing sheep staggering around under the trees, snouts raised in the air. As an added bonus the electric fence also prevented possum damage. These beasties are a huge pest in New Zealand; having been imported from Australia years ago to a land with a mild climate and no predators the population has boomed to millions, and one possum will happily strip a fruit tree in a night. However if you were a wayward possum daring to cavort around our house at night, there was a very good chance the last thing you would ever see was my Dad, his Y-fronts glowing in the moonlight, squinting down the barrel of a .22 getting ready to change your mind manually.

I decided to brighten the orchard with daffodils. Having read that the best way to achieve a natural looking placement of bulbs was to literally toss them in handfuls over the area and plant them when they landed, I subsequently spent the next half hour cursing and trying to locate the bloody things again while avoiding the electric fences. Having done that, I pretty much sabotaged my chances of a bumper flower crop by planting them…upside down. For some reason it seemed logical that the pointy bit would stick downwards. With such a hopeless record of bulb planting, who could EVER have guessed I would end up with Dutch nationality??

Hail, Caesar!

2009-11-09T18:00:00.002+01:00

A few days ago I was pottering around upstairs, pouring the kids out of their pj's and into something warm to face the cooling autumn weather, when I heard Carl making strange noises in his room. Eventually I figured out he was practising the noise of a cracking whip. He and Big Brother are into Romans and gladiators at the moment so I figured he was having an imaginary chariot race.
A few minutes later I went in to put on his socks - I know, some 5 year olds have mastered this tricky task but it takes Carl FOREVER and sometimes it's just easier to do it yourself, you know? So there he is, lying on his bed, feet in the air and as I lean forward to roll on the first sock he swings his arm to give me a lash of his pretend whip, complete with sound effects, and yells: "Come on slave, faster!!"

Bodiam Castle

2009-11-05T20:03:00.000+01:00

You're probably thinking that there isn't much more we could pack into our short UK break, but you'd be wrong. As they say in advertising; but wait - there's more! Wednesday dawned grey and drizzly but even this couldn't put us off our mission to visit Bodiam Castle in East Sussex. My friend Anna had recommended this castle and it was magnificent; a quintessentially medieval fortification, square in shape with round towers at each corner, and a large picturesque moat.

Before I carry on, a quick confession; I didn't take these photos. It basically peed down with rain the whole time we were there, Niels threw a hissy fit when I growled at him about not pushing his brother down a stone stairway and refused to face the camera, and I had cold water dripping down my neck most of the time. So my photos suck. These ones however, from the National Trust, are lovely so I'm stealing them instead.

The castle was built in 1385 by Sir Edward Dalyngrigge in the days of Richard 11 in order to defend the surrounding area from the mauranding French. Touted as one of Britains most famous castle it was only after we returned home that we realised how often it appears in the kids history books.

While the walls, ramparts and towering gate houses of the castle are all intact, the once grand inner structure of the castle was deliberately destroyed, possibly by Cromwells men during the Britsh Civil War to avoid it being used as a defensive outpost.

Now owned by the National Trust, the castle is well maintained and several people dressed in medieval costume braved the weather with us to lend an air of authenticity.

By mid afternoon we squelched our way back to the car and headed 'home', the sun helpfully breaking through the clouds just as we drove out of the carpark.

Make Haste to Hastings!

2009-11-01T08:00:00.001+01:00

One of the great things about Kent is that there is so much to do in a fairly compact area. Having sated our appetite for planes and cathedrals, it was time to immerse ourselves in even more history. Perhaps I should point out that we all enjoy our history, although hubby and Niels are real fans. Top of Niels lists of favourite historial events is now the Battle of Hastings, as a result of our day spent exploring the area and delving into the story of the Battle of 1066.

First stop however was Smugglers Adventure, a series of caves dug into the sandstone cliffs of Hastings itself. Nobody knows who dug the first caves, but British smugglers enlarged them to hide their booty to avoid paying the high taxes imposed on most goods to finance the 100 Year War with France. Based on this period the Smugglers Adventure invites visitors to walk through the dimly lit caves, learning about the smugglers, their booty, and what happened to them if they got caught. It wasn't too grisly and the boys had a blast.

Nearby are the ruins of Hastings Castle, which must have been an incredibly impressive sight before most of it tumbled into the sea a few hundred years ago. The film 'The Story of 1066' explained the history of the battle, who was fighting and who won, and prevented me from asking embarresing questions like"King Harold?? Are you sure that was his name? Wasn't he the one in Shrek?"

The fact that poor old Harold was apparently killed after being shot in the right eye by an arrow was the icing on the cake for the boys. They have been re-enacting that particular moment non-stop ever since, complete with squelchy eye popping sound effects and blood curdling death cries. Lovely.
After riding on the cute little West Cliff Victorian railway down to the seaside again, we enjoyed an excellent lunch of traditional fish & chips at a nice little restaurant before wandering back to the car. Fired up by the history oozing from the ground around us we stopped at the imaginatively named town of Battle, site of....you guessed it...the Battle of Hastings. A huge Abbey was built beside the battle field by William the Conqueror and Holger was keen to take a look, as was Niels. I bowed out - one cathedral a week is enough for me - and instead took Carl to visit Yesteryear, a museum andshop full of nostalgic things from days gone by. I bought the guys a very retro-looking gam of Tiddlywinks and a couple of traditional pop-guns (the kind with a cork on a string which pops out when you pump the handle), perhaps subconsciously hoping to distract them from the whole arrow-in-the-eye obessession.

When he emerged from the Abbey hubby was having a chuckle at something he'd seen. A concrete tile marked the spot where King Harold had died, and some patriotic Brit had placed flowers there with a note saying "In remembrance of the last true English King". Who would have thought it possible to hold a grudge for 950 years??

RAF Manston Spitfire Museum; Take Aim and Fire!!!

2009-10-28T08:00:00.002+01:00

Our first port of call after arriving in Kent was of couse the RAF Manston Spitfire and Hawker Hurricane Memorial Museum in Ramsgate. I say of course because anyone who has met my children will realise that few things in life will ever top the moment they walked through the doors and came face to face with one of their favourite objects on the planet. Of course I may have slightly ruined the moment by squealing "Oh look Niels, a real Spitfire!!!" whereupon he turned to me with a withering look and grumbled "That's a Hawker Hurricane, not a Spitfire!"

Ok, so I'm not such a big fan but even I enjoyed the museum. It's fairly small by most standards, with just the two planes, and tonnes of memorabilia, but it was the perfect size for two little boys. Each one had actually flown in combat and been lovingly restored. After lunch in the quintessially British cafe next door we strolled around the Battle of Britain memorial - still strewn with wreaths commemorating the 65th anniversary the weekend before - then wandered across the lawn to the collection of more modern aircraft which is displayed in a much larger hanger-like facility next door. Jet fighters, rescue helicopters, and all kinds of other aircraft are collected here. When they ran out of room they simply started chopping the cockpits off the planes and displaying those instead, which seems like quite a sensible solution to me.

We left with a new collection of model planes which have been lovingly played with every day since, and a resolution to recommend this place to whoever we can. So there you go - if you like planes, history, or running around the lawn withyour arms outstretched yelling "budda-budda-budda YOU'RE DEAD" at your brother, you should visit this very worthy museum. It's staffed by volunteers (many of whom are former pilots) and survives on donations.

On the way back to our cottage we couldn't drive past Canterbury without calling in for a visit. I've heard about this place all my life and finally this was a chance to see it. Since the days when I studied Chaucer I've wondered what Canterbury is like; and after passing through the high stone gates into the cathedral grounds, I imagine that little has changed since he himself was last here. The cathedral is simply magnificent, as you would expect it to be, although we were a little stunned at the entrance fee of GBP 21.50 for a family ticket. However we weren't going to come this way again so in we went. We found the statues of Thomas Beckett and The Black Prince, strolled through the Quoir and along the endless nave.

Having developed a slight case of ABC Syndrome since moving to Europe (that's 'Another Bloody Cathedral Syndrome' to those of you who aren't in the know) I'm not usually a big fan, but it was an impressive place, dripping with history. We quickly breezed through the very, very large souvenir shop - religion has obviously been commercialised since my last visit to a cathedral - to exit into the bright sunlight again and headed on our way. This was shaping up to be a great holiday.

Blue Skies Over the White Cliffs of Dover

2009-10-26T20:15:00.007+01:00

Last week we headed off for much-anticipated mid-term break to the UK. Journeying to a holiday destination by car still holds a certain thrill for me; firstly I love the fact that no-one is going to weigh my luggage so if I decide to completely over-pack, it's my business and won't involve handing over a credit card. Secondly, it brings back fond memories of being a kid, huddled together with my sisters in the enormous back seat of our big V8 Holden, roaring off in the early misty morning for Te Kaha or Paihia for a week of living on crayfish, paua, butterfish and all sorts of other goodies Dad would bring home and Mum would cook to perfection with just one pot and a rusty spatula. Days spent playing on the beach, crunching sand with all our food and not really caring, and hair so full of sea salt it would take three shampoo washes before it would even move again. Ten cents pocket money each day - a real treat since we never had pocket money as growing up on a farm meant there wasn't anywhere to spend it anyway - and hours spent hanging upside down on the monkey bars at the local park or building huts under the Pohutukawa trees at the beach, in the days before parents started looking sideways at every potential child snatcher walking past. I also vividly remember being pretty ill on some hoildays, with bronchitis and chest infections necessitating trips to strange doctors we didn't know. I particularly have very crystal clear memories of being prescribed a cough medicine by an elderly witch doctor in Paihia which was dark blue in colour and so vile tasting it actually made me vomit and stained my tongue and teeth. Aah, the fond recollections of our youth!

I digress. Just before we headed off our new toy arrived; a Tom Tom. Ok, we must be the last people on the planet to get one but hey, we've survived with maps up until now. After reading the instruction book cover to cover (I admit it's an obsession but it's one I can live with), I programmed in our destination - to Dunkirke then from Dover to near Tunbridge Wells - and off we set. Ah, the bliss of not having to track our progress kilometre by kilometre, one finger pressed firmly into the map book so as not to lose our place. I even downloaded - get this - a female NEW ZEALAND voice for the Tom Tom - my squeals of "honey I found a voice without ANY ACCENT AT ALL!!!! probably audible across half of Lochem. Can't imagine why hubby was rolling his eyes and mumbling, but I swear it took less than 24 hours for him to start ignoring that machine, so maybe an accent like mine was asking for trouble.

All was well until we got close to Antwerp, and then Moana (that's what I christened) her died. No more power. At all. Turns out there was a faulty fuse in that little hole you shove the power cable into (and yes I do believe that is the technical name thank you very much) so it wasn't charging. However we still had our trusty maps, so off we sped to the ferry terminal.

Ferries are so much more relaxing than planes. We simply drove up to customs point where the cheerful officials briefly squinted at our passports to make sure they were the right colour (yes that's why I married him darling) before being waved onto the vessel. We lounged about a bit and then, get this, I had a MASSAGE on the boat before we docked in Dover. Let's see that happen on a plane. Plus the return trip cost just 60 euros for all of us, the car, and Moana (on Norfolk Line). Unblievable.

Arriving at our converted stable cum cottage in Shipbourne, the sun was still shining, the golden autumn leaves were sighing in the breeze, and it was the perfect time to crack open the bottle of Tanquery I'd picked up on board for half the price we pay at home, ready for a pre-dinner G&T. We were officially in holiday mode.

Father & Son

2009-10-11T08:00:00.000+02:00

There's not much I wanted to add to the picture (taken on the Dragon Ride at Legoland, on perhaps the 452nd time Niels rode it), except have you ever seen a boy and his Dad having more fun together?

Aaaaaaarrrrgggghhhhhhhhh!

2009-10-09T10:02:00.005+02:00

I defy anybody to look at the photo above and not crack up laughing. Taken during our summer holiday at Legoland, this is our first ride on the Lego Canoe...the first of about 15 times we did this. The looks on the kids faces are classic; Niels is old enough to realise that if this was truly dangerous, that (a) Mum and Dad wouldn't let him do it, and (b) or in any case would not be sitting in the canoe with him!
Carl however, with less life experience to draw on is clearly thinking: "We're all going to die!!!". Those popping eyes, muscles clenched in terror and hair standing on end all show that he fully expects the smiling young teenagers who work at Legoland to be seiving bodyparts from the foaming pool at the bottom of this slope for the next two hours. D-Day has arrived.
Now let's examine that emotion a little more closely...

...and then marvel at the fact that the very first thing he said when we reached the bottom - once he resumed breathing - was "AGAIN!!!"

Looking For A New Job

2009-10-04T21:22:00.003+02:00

Life as a parent can be so frustrating at times, and I often seem to be moaning to hubby about how little the kids listen to me. At times it feels like I'm talking to myself. Take today, for instance. Both of the boys had been so difficult at different times, and I found myself telling them to do simple things like put on their shoes or get in the car ten times. By the time bedtime rolled round I was feeling so frazzled, I decided enough was enough. After a serious talking to I made them tidy their rooms and put away the ten thousand toys strewn around the house before I'd read them a story. Then when they were in bed I spent ten minutes with each one individually talking about how they needed to listen to me more, not just ignore me when I asked them to do something or talked to them and generally pull their fingers out and behave.
Niels listened quietly and we ended with a hug and a promise to try harder. When it was Carls turn he also listened intently, nodded his head that he understood then gave me a quick goodnight kiss before demanding: "how long until Papa comes home?" Obviously he's given up on me and has decided the other parent show more promise.
Actually it's the second time this week he's made me feel like that. He loves to kick around a football after dininer, devising elaborate rules that only he can understand to explain why when he kicks the ball in my goal (the entire garden fence) he gets 3 points, yet when I kick it into his goal (a 20 cm wide zone of the fence which moves at random) I either get 1 point, or -1 point. It's always a laugh and its hard to keep a straight face when he takes it so seriously. A couple of nights ago he was getting increasingly pissed off because I didn't understand his ever-changing rules, and when I finally gave up and just kicked the ball towards him glared at me, thrust out his arm with an indignant finger pointing straight at me and yelled "that's it, YOU'RE FIRED!"
Time to find a new job.

Airborne Museum 'Hartenstein' in Arnhem

2009-09-27T20:45:00.007+02:00

Last week the Airborne Museum in Arnhem was officially reopened after having been cosed for extensive renovations and extensions for the past year. it's the sort of place we tend to visit; lots of history and interesting info, plus of course the endless appeal of soldiers and battle stories for the kids. The museum is located in Hartenstein, which before WWII was the rather posh Hotel Hartenstein. It played a key role the famous battle of Arnhem, Operation Market Garden, which was immortalised in history for the exceptional courage of the soldiers involved, the enormous bloodshed that resulted, and for more recent generations in numerous books and films, most notably A Bridge To Far by Cornelius Ryan.

As part of a major advance the Allies landed across Holland and moved North and East into Germany. Many troops were landed behind enemy lines, and about 35,000 men were deployed in the operation. Those unfortunate souls who were sent in to take and defend the bridge in Arnhem were landed about 8 miles away, and were expected to regroup then advance through the town of Oosterbeek to Arnhem. Sadly those 8 miles may as well have been 100. Intense fighting around Oosterbeek saw the British dig in and fight fiercely, bun faced with heavy bombardment by the German artillery the Allies were forced to withdraw. The Hotel Hartenstein was used as the command post and hospital for the Allied troops and was itself the scene of fierce and bloody fighting.

Today it's hard to imagine the bombs landing and men killing each other in the peaceful woods and manicured lawns around this stately old building. Yet just last year more unexploded ordinance was found in the front lawn which had to be blown up and removed for public safety.

During the rebuild a new entrance was built and more display area created, and what a good job they've made of this rebuild. Inside the displys are well thought out, interesting, and presented in Dutch, German, and English. There were crowds of people enjoying a day out in the sun when we called in this afternoon, and the film room was full. We wandered through the elegant rooms, still adorned with flowery murals and delicately plastered ceilings, trying to reconcile the photos and films of the battle around the building with the sun-filled rooms we passed through. In the basement a whole new level has been created where you walk thorough trenches and it really does feel like you're under enemy fire; real jeeps and demolished cars and buildings, the smell of smoke and flicking films on the walls create an eerily realistic effect. It was a bit to realistic for Carl so I whizzed him through this part, but Niels found it fascinating, as did we. If you visit you should allow about an hour to walk through the museum, and the small gift shop at the end is worth a visit. The boys found model airplanes and military Lego (well it looks like Lego but is actually a copy) to take home, and hubby enjoyed poking about among the books and DVDs about the history of the battle and the area.

The museum is well worth a visit, especially if like me you're from abroad and are interested in learning more about the local history. Mind you the excellent displays and great location make this a good place for anyone to visit, especially military history buffs. Entrance costs 8 euros per adult, 5 euros for children.

Bird of Prey Show, Silkeborg

2009-09-21T21:14:00.003+02:00

There's something about birds of prey that is captivating, and the sport of falconry has always struck me as particularly cool. I can imagine that in medieval times it would have been handy to be able to hunt with a falcon or buzzard, and even now as a sport it has a noble association. Plus it must take a huge amount of dedication to train a bird of prey, and no small amount of courage to let it loose every day and hope like hell that it chooses to return rather than disappear into the wild blue yonder.

When we were in Denmark we passed a sign for a bird of prey show several times on our trips to Silkeborg where we seemed to spend most of our time looking for, or hanging around, a laundromat. Eventually we couldn't resist the temptation and called it to investigate. As luck would have it we had arrived only ten minutes before the daily show - perfect timing!

If you're ever in the Silkeborg area you have to check out this show. The host was a young guy who obviously was passionate about his sport. What looked like brand-new, purpose built facilities housed a wide variety of birds, and his presentation was funny, quirky and really interesting. At different times volunteers could have a go at putting on a falconry glove and feeling what it was like to have a bird on their hand; once Niels had tried it there was no stopping Carl, despite the fact that the owl was almost bigger than he was!