Monday, June 30, 2008
He was coming from the opposite direction, turning left. I was going straight, with the intention of turning left after him. He turned in front of me and stopped at the traffic light. Unfortunately, whether he knew it or not, his back wheel was still in the bike path - I didn't have a choice, there was no time for me to stop or swerve - I hit his backwheel so hard that spokes dislodged and the frame bent.
I felt terrible and said so - but he was having none of it. It was my fault, I was stupid, I was blind, I hadn't even tried to stop. In fact, as far as he was concerned I had aimed. Again I apologised, and then pointed out that he had actually cut in front of me, was on my side of the road and hadn't left anywhere for me to go. This, of course, unleashed another tirade of abuse.
Sitting in the middle of intersecting bike paths, at peak hour, meant that our accident and my verbal bashing was becoming an obstructing spectacle. So I suggested we move to the pavement. He carried on cursing me and inspecting his bike. I started to wheel my bike around to the pavement. He decided I was making a runner for it, so he grabbed my arm and handlebars to pull me back.
"You're not going anywhere!" he shouted.
"I'm moving out of the way, you fucking arsehole!" I raised my voice in response. Classy.
With such a crowd of spectators and after his verbal - and bordering on physical - abuse, I was then surrounded by three very protective men who had witnessed at least the latter part of the incident. One giant of a gentleman made it very clear that he would be staying by my side until I said otherwise. I appreciated that and I hope that the aggressor felt like a tit. He certainly looked it.
The aggressor tried to tell my bodyguard in Dutch what a klote idioot I was, because I hadn't even looked before ploughing into him. I responded in Dutch, and defended myself, again, in English. My bodyguard responded in English and suggested that we keep the correspondence to English. I appreciated that too.
I do feel bad for the guy's bike. Not for him. It was mortifying to get shouted at so publicly. I know it fucked up his evening, but it sure as hell fucked up mine too.
Monday, June 23, 2008
It's like this, you see... I was getting dressed to go out for the day. I had also been out not-celebrating Oranje the night before. Anywho. So I selected shirt and jeanpants, but as usual, my outfit assembly took a while. So having got as far as brassiere and thongie-thing, I then decided that my selected shirt was in need of ironing. Yes, it probably would've been better to simply select another top, but who ever did things the easy way?
Anywho, so ironing board out, iron on, I get so enraptured in my task (and possibly a bit distracted by something on TV) that I don't notice when I step on the iron cord. Iron cord pulls taut, hot iron nudges in towards self. On to exposed hip flesh.
"Oh goodness gracious, sweet mother of an innocent child," I exclaimed with my characteristic and dainty restraint.
I have since then been nursing a blistered line in a rather indiscreet region.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Just thought I'd pop you a line to say keep fighting the good fight. I can see from the international news that you're catching quite a lot of heat at the moment. Hard to believe that everyone is ganging up on you like that. After all you've done. Hang in there, in just a short few months, the land will be completely bare of all resources and signs of life - and then it will be yours. All yours. And you will have won!
As a matter of interest, is there a name to your strategy? I know the Russians had the "scorched earth" technique during WWII, so perhaps yours will be known as the "destroy and implode" policy? Maybe you should start pushing the phrase now, so you'll be credited with the inception and naming of it. I don't mind, you can have full rights to the phrase - you've earned it.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
We're in the throws of the European Championship (EK, for Dutch locals), which means that everyone and everything has gone orange. Everything.
Orange flags, posters, promotions at every turn in every shop... they have a term for occassions such as this: Oranjegekte. Some buildings paint their entrances orange, and streets compete for the most orange decorations. This is not a drill; this is nation puts the fanatic into fan.
My personal favourite is the brul shirt that can be purchased at Blokker stores nationwide (click on the advert link in the website for the full affect). It's orange, obviously, and has a giant face of a lion on the front. But the shirt is deceptive... underneath the lion is another layer of material, when flipped open it becomes the lion's mouth.
Awesome. I really have to get me one of those shirts.
Mills has got his heart set on a Trom-Pet from Heineken. It's a drumming hat. See video link. I stand firm in my objection.
Oranje's recent trouncing of Italy has only upped the excitement. Bring on the NL-French game tomorrow... I can't wait to hear the trom-pet's drumming through the streets. Again.
I heard that the last time Oranje won the EK, there was a massive street party - with cheers erupting everytime the traffic lights changed to... orange. I can believe it.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
I'm not much of a gym bunny at the best of times, so the little memory stick does come in handy - it tells you at the beginning of the sessions exactly what you should be doing, how many sets on each apparatus, how long on the bike/treadmill etc.
At each apparatus, you insert your computer stick and the programme automatically loads for you. For the weight machines, it tells you what weight you should be on, how many you have left (handy for people like me who stop counting after seven), whether you should be doing them faster or slower and if you're over-extending, etc.
The bikes and other cardio machines all have TV sets in them, with headphones for each gym user. When you change from bike to treadmill, for example, the TV jumps to the channel that you were watching on the last machine. Like I said, shmancy.
Beautiful and simple, right? You get your programme set up for you by a personal trainer, they load it onto your memory stick; all you have to insert memory chip and you're off for your training session...
And it works just fine when Mills uses it. But when I use it, things go awry.
"Invalid selection" was my favourite on the leg press yesterday. What selection? There is no selection to make, you insert key, you do the sets. Somehow my computer chip decided that I had made the wrong decision.
Put it down to technical fluke. I move to the abductor machine. I start the first of my sets. One, two, three... beep beep beep. The computer informs me that after three crunches, my 2 sets are complete. Huh?
The really annoying thing is that at the end, the clever computer tallies up your results and plots them on a pretty graph, compared to what you should be doing. Because it didn't register two of my exercises, I have 'underperformed'. Computer says NO.
Still... I'll try to keep it up, I do quite enjoy watching cable movies on the bike.
Back home from the gym, I pounced on my boyfriend in a playful and energetic way (no euphamism on pounced, it's quite literal. I generally wait until he's watching his favourite program on TV). In my enthusiasm, my foot managed to knock over the full jug of water HE had left on the side table next to the couch. Full jug of water toppled off table and onto, over and under the extension cord and plugs next to it.
During the clean up operations that followed, Mills and I had the following debate: Who's to blame for this?
He maintains: Koekie did it, Koekie should take responsibility. End of story.
I maintain: Mills failed to Koekie-proof the house. After 6 years, Mills really should know better than to leave a full jug of water near my play area. Mills should be blamed.
What do you think?
Thursday, June 05, 2008
This is what I pulled out of my bag:
My camera phone
One pair of shoes
A box of headache tablets
A box of muscle relaxants/cramp tablets
A handful of tampoons
Mouth ulcer cream
Foot blister plasters
Make up travel kit
One stack of chewing gum
(one chewed gum in a used tissue, yes... disgusting)
One box of chewy sweets
A multitude of hairbands and hairclips
Two lipsticks (different colours for different purposes)
One lipstick/lipbalm (depends which end of the stick you're using)
Two glitter lipbalms (one for night, one for day wear)
One tub of Zambuk
One tub of vaseline
A packet of tissues
One tube of handcream
Business card holder
A travel guide of Paris
My house keys
Mills's house keys
...But no minty shimmery Body Shop lipbalm. Damn, I must've left that in my other hand bag.
The really scary thing is that, apart from the cameras and Paris travelguide, it wasn't actually that different from my daily handbag contents. My day-to-day inventory generally includes a change of shoes (heels vs flat, open vs closed toes... you just never know) and a scarf (cos you never know when that North Sea wind is going to kick up). My daily handbag will also most likely include a 'brat pack' - some biscuits or a snackbar to keep the irritable nibbles at bay.
And my handbag isn't even that big.