Koekgenaarde... big news!

It’s going to be a long day. Besides the quacking ducks and har-har-hardedaaahs that had me tossing and turning all night (do those birds ever sleep? Am suddenly in all in favour of fois gras), I was woken up by the sound of a crack and smashing glass. As of this morning I don’t think there anything quite like the sound of glass to give you a shot of adrenaline and have you sitting bolt upright in bed at 4:20am. And… AWAKE.

Turns out it was our muchos-expensive kitchen clock (R25 from Clicks) smashed to smithering on our kitchen floor. Not such a clean dismount. I didn’t even realise they included glass for R25. This early morning rising is becoming a trend... I also woke up at 2:44 yesterday morning. I know, because I couldn’t get back to sleep until my alarm went off at 5:15. Then, I slept like a log - waking up to the realisation that I was going to be late for work.

The reason for me lying awake yesterday morning is because earlier this week, Boyfriend got a job offer in the Netherlands. Specifically, The Hague. Obviously I would like to go with him. I even wore a bright orange shirt yesterday to show my Dutch support (no matching undies like the union jack set, yet). My 3am realisation yesterday morning was this… “I’m gonna have to learn to ride a bloody bike.” Shitballs.

A brief history of my life-cycle:

Recently, I was forced to ride a bike while staying with a friend in Utrecht. I am convinced she only did this because she knew that it would make for great entertainment for her and her boyfriend. Cow. Prior to that… I think the last time I was on a bike, it had training wheels.

One of the requirements to getting a resident’s visa is assurance that I won’t be a public menace. This shouldn’t be too much of a problem, provided they don’t ask to see me riding a bike…

My brief attempt at two-wheeled transportation to the train station and back involved me wobbling unsteadily into and around very nervous drivers; ramming my front wheel directly into my friend’s back wheel (takes great aim and skill); and on one occasion, using a pole to come to a dead stop… all while said-friend took her camera-phone out and with one hand on handle bar documented my cycling attempt, checked the picture, snorted with glee and carried on pedalling casually.

AND they cycle/drive on the wrong side of the bloody road, so when I was diving for the pavement (my safety haven) I was automatically diving across traffic to get to the left. I think I might have sent a few drivers home for a very strong shot of whiskey that evening.

It also ended with me having a very, very tender koek. Cycling is over-rated.

Bearing all this in mind, I’ve put in a request with Boyfriend – that while he is eagerly awaiting our reunification in den Haag, he should invest in a bicycle with a side-car. Or a trolley big enough for me and our grocery shopping. And work those quads.

This is all, of course, providing that I actually get a visa to get into the country. Better start brushing up on my Dutch swearing!