Klote haarkapper

Goddamn useless woman.

I went to the hairdresser today. This is always a bold move, because it means going to someone who has not earned my trust - and then allowing them full power over my fragile hair's self-esteem. Mills does not understand this. To men, a hairdresser is a hairdresser is a hairdresser. To woman a hairdresser is selected carefully, generally by process of trial-and-error elimination. They can make or break you emotionally. My beloved hairdresser is unfortunately in South Africa, and I can't afford the flight home for her to restyle my hair every three months.

Anyway, it had to be done so I went an booked an appointment. Awesome. They led me to a chair in front of the mirror. What do you want done, the young blonde kapper asked me. Just a trim and a thin, I replied - not wanting to allow room for too much drastic change.

She loosened my hair, picked up the scissors and seemed ready to chop.

Um, aren't you going to wash it first..? I quickly enquired.
Oh - do you want it washed too? She asked wide-eyed.

I don't know, is it just me, or is the wetting of the hair not standard before cutting it? I thought it was. Anyway, after the brusquest of washes (She even asked if I wanted conditioner too... yes, I want fucking conditioner... where the heck did you learn your trade? Are you kidding me? Needless to say, there was no gentle scalp massage included), I was back in the chair in front of the mirror.

She was clearly struggling with my thick curly locks. I know this because a) I could see it and b) she told me so a few times.

Very thick hair... very, very thick hair...
Yes, I know, I'm fairly accustomed to it; it growing on my head on a daily basis and all.

By this stage, I was damn sure she was going to do nothing to my hair but cut the dead-ends off and dry it straight. Not much room for error there. Even this turned out to be a mistake. First she had to clarify if I wanted it dried with a hairdryer and a hairbrush, or just with a towel and her blessed hands.

Are a towel and your hands likely to get my hair straight? No. Then I'll go for option A, please dearie.

The woman insisted that my hair was too thick to blow dry straight. This is crap because other hairdressers in the past have managed... and on much tighter curls than my own. Blondie (with her limp, thin hair) should be made to do community service in an African hair salon. Then she'd know all about challenging hair.

She tried to convince me that she should curl instead of trying to straighten. I figured I'd give her a break and agreed. Mistake number 2. Her attempt at curling my CURLY hair turned it into a cross between Medusa and an ambitious rabbi (minus the beard), with ringlets snaking out of control at 90 degrees from each other.

NO.

Now will you please blowdry my hair, possibly professionally, but if you can't manage that, at least just calm it down to below hurricane-inflicted, which is how it looks at the moment.

So, she did half a job and I left the salon with my hair half-wet, having had enough of her incompetent attempts. At least she only charged me half-price for doing more to stuff up my hair than repair it.

I stomped home, got out my brush and hairdryer and wouldn't you know it... straightened my hair.

To my true hairdresser back home, who also has curly "unstraightenable" hair (which she surprisingly can get perfectly straight)... I miss you!

Lesson learnt today:

Never tell a pregnant woman that she's "packing extra weight".

Even if it is funny (which I still maintain it was), expect staplers to fly in your general direction.

ps. I don't know what's with the stupid cartoon obsession at the moment. Bear with me, I think it's just a phase and I'm hoping to grow out of it soon.

Aaaaaaaaaah

I feel rejuvenated. Yesterday, I spent the majority of my afternoon just lying in the sun. Yes. The Sun.

And it was WARM.

Apparently, it was 16, maybe 17 degrees, and I celebrated by getting out a summer dress and lying in the sun on our balcony. The irony is not lost on me. Back home, if the forecast was 16 degrees, I wouldn't have gotten out of bed - other than to refill my hot water bottle.

Yesterday was the first time that the thermometre has gone past 11 degrees this year, and they've predicted similar temps for the week. I feel like a solar panel - recharged.

Look, don't touch.

Hello? Can I have a great big, WTF?

I can't stop thinking about this story, which was brought to my attention via www.thoughtleader.co.za.

A six-year-old gets hauled before the police because he smacked a female classmate on the butt. Said six-year-old now has sexual offender branded across his school (criminal) record. Een beetje overdreven, toch? Is this indicative of a school that has lost touch of reality, or are the school officials completely powerless to do any disciplining without justifying it by courts and cops?

Flashback to Koekie in Grade One... [vision goes wishy-washy and magical harp music indicates change of scene]

Shaun Cotton (or something) was my crush back then. He had everything a girl dreamed of - pisspot hairstyle and a full set of milk teeth. I was his crush. We were a hot item.

One day, during our much-needed playbreak, Shaun tried to convince me to go behind the bushes with him.

Why? I demanded, although I had a fairly good idea.
Um, because I want to tell you a secret, he replied - with the decency to look sheepish.
So? Tell me the secret here, I challenged. We were sitting on top of the jungle gym, no one was paying us attention.
Um, okay.. Maybe I want to give you a kiss, he admitted.
I gave him a skeef look, justly deserved. Nah, I don't want one, thanks.

Shortly after that that Shaun and I lost interest in each other's attentions. Maybe it was because I didn't put out. Maybe my attention span didn't last past art class. The point is that I survived this attempt at sexual harrassment, and I'm hoping that Shaun didn't go on to be a sexual predator (well, no more so than any other hormonal 18-year-old).

[Wishy vision and harp music]
And we're back.

I wonder what would've changed if I had taken young Shaun up on his suggestion. I am 99.99% sure he had nothing more risky in mind than a peck on the lips. It was almost 10 years later before I finally gave in to my first 'real' kiss (god, it was disgusting... what is the point of all that tongue and slobber? Urgh. So unnecessarily messy). And I did 'give in' to find out what the big deal was about smooching/snogging/pulling. I really didn't think I was missing out on anything, and I still maintain I was right... especially at that stage. But, if I had acquiesced to Shaun's early advances, would I have put out sooner in my highschool years? Somehow I doubt it.

I'm losing track here. My point (I think there's one somewhere), is that Shaun's request sounds far more calculated than poor aptly-named Randy from Virginia. If he had smacked his classmate on the arm, he might have been suspended for aggression. And I doubt that Shaun (or I) grew up any worse for wear from our overtly sexual conversation on top of the jungle gym all those years ago.

If (IF!) I did have children, would I be forced to place them in schools where they are not allowed to touch other kids, for fear of legal/criminal reprisals. Not allowed to share the same facilities, utensils or breathing space, for fear of contaminating each other with their icky kiddie germs? I thought the point of school was to teach children social skills. What are they learning now? Besides how to waste police resources.

The same article mentions a four-year-old in Texas who has a similar record to Randy... except this toddler harrassed a grown woman, by pressing his face into the bosom of the lady (carer/teacher?) who was carrying him at the time.

I thought this counted as 'seeking physical contact' or 'snuggling', but apparently the 37-year-old carrying him called it sexual harrassment. I just hope this school official has the decency (if she has any left) to squirm when she explains that she was the victim of sexual abuse... from a four-year-old.

How empowering, for a toddler who probably still sucks his thumb.
And how embarrassing for the woman who picked him up, unwittingly play straight into his evil mastery.

Honestly.
What... the... Fuck?

I'd make my mom proud

This is what a pot should look like...

This is what a pot looks like, after I have gotten hold of it...

Last night, I invited friends around for dinner, which I catered for with great care. I didn't break anything. I didn't spill a drop of red wine on anything (although there were very close calls). I did, however, manage to put an end to pot that has belonged to Mills since the days of Rhodes-long-gone.

Short story: steamed veggies, too much talking, not enough water. Cracking pot, lots of steam (okay, maybe slight traces of smoke), cries of awe and shock and wonder at my cooking prowess from the guests. A pat on the back from my boyfriend, congratulating me on never letting him down.

My cooking extravaganza was slightly interrupted by NC putting her foot in her mouth spectacularly, with a rant about "those anal policemen wankers" (I paraphrase). I quickly stepped in before she could go further.

"Um, NC... I know you've only just met the man sitting to your left, but can I take this opportunity to point out that he is a policeman by profession? Just thought I'd throw that out there."

That was a good icebreaker - followed shortly by my pyrotechnics. I like to keep my dinners interactive.

My opinion R better than urs

On a daily basis I read a number of online columns, mostly on news websites or at least current affairs websites. And every single day I get worked up - sometimes with the original piece, but most times with the idiots responding in the comments section.

Every day there is at least one column of comments ranting about how some 'reporter/journalist' has gotten the facts wrong or hasn't done enough research into the art of knitting farmyard animals (to pick a randomly obscure subject). To be honest, the topic usually holds more gravity, such as nationality, race or gender issues, but it's not the subject matter that irks me. It's the response that crawls under my eyeballs and straight into my bloodstream...

"I dont no how u can cal urself an reporter when u dont evn get the fact strate u r so biassed"

Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating the spelling/grammar pet peeve (not really, more on that later), but please can we get one thing straight - columns and editorials are NOT news, they are not factual, they are often not even an attempt at The Truth. They are opinion-pieces and are meant to be one-sided. They are the point of view of one, very subjective and, yes... opinionated person.

So the piece that chick wrote, on how she feels about affirmative action, is indeed biased. It's a column and it's her opinion. Just the same as that guy who wrote that he would never like to live in America. His column is not the result of an extensive research project. His column might as well be based on the fact that he doesn't like prime-time viewing. That's the point. You don't have to agree with it, and the editors actually prefer that you don't. By all means, argue your own case, but please don't waste time focusing all your coordination on typing an angry (illiterate) comment pointing out the fact that he has written his opinion. Assume it is so.

Right, now that we've cleared up the difference between 'news article' and 'opinion piece' (and without even beginning to delve into the issues of why there can never be just one journalistic truth. Why do you think there is a conspiracy theory to counter every history textbook? Where was I going with this... time to end parenthesis), and we're back... now that we've cleared up that definition, let's focus a bit on the comments themselves.

First, if you publish a column on a public forum with commenting facilities, you open yourself up to the deluge of responses. Fair enough. Similarly, if you comment on such a public forum, you have to accept that people are probably going to respond to your comment. Especially if it is idiotic and ill-written. And those are generally the most aggressive responses, also generally the ones that miss the point of the article in the first place.

Someone who writes a column about how apartheid affected their life, is not necessarily racist. And writing about crime does not make someone pro-Australia (hey, I said not necessarily. And besides, that's just MY opinion). But badly-spelt comments that instruct the author to, 'just go die in a pool of blud,' and such-like are really not adding much to the debate, are they?

Okay, I can't base this rant on anything substantial. It's just something that I've noticed time and time again during my quiet reading time and it really gets my blood up. One day, when I'm president, I'm going to institute these laws:

1) Eligibility to vote will be determined by an IQ test.
2) Eligibility to breed will be determined by a similar test, and probably subject to license.

It's a long shot, but I'm hoping this would eventually result in intelligent posting on comment forums.

Conflicting messages

This morning I got up and blearily turned on the TV. It was 6:55am and the channel was still on RTL5, one of the local senders. The visuals showed naked ladies with naked boobies, and a number enticing any early-morning commuters to give them ladies a ding before hopping on their bikes to work.

I'm still only really used to seeing that kind of content after midnight, (on e-tv at The Colony on a Saturday), but jawellnofine. We're in the Netherlands. Land of the liberal and all and all.

Then I listened to the audio track running over the nekkid noombies. A squeaky voice was asking viewers to call in if they wanted to buy 'this' Disney toy.

I trust this was a broadcast mistake, because appealing to pester-power is more in line with 7am midweek TV viewing. But showing nip-nips while appealing to the ears of hyperactive 5-year-olds? That's a bit weird, even for the cloggies.

Define normal

First she was she, then she decided to be a he, but kept the she-bits in case she wanted to use them in the future.

So now she's a he, with a uterus, no boobs and a beard.
And he's having a baby.

Pregnant man hails 'miracle'

First, how can the pregancy be normal? The wo/man has been pumping her/himself full of testosterone - to aid facial hair development and pectoral regression. How is the child going to turn out? Besides possibly amazonian.

Pregnancy surviving, how is the child going to turn out on the playing ground? Your dad gave birth to you... are you kidding?

What chance does the kid actually have?

The whole truth and nothing but the truth

In the spirit of DBAWIW's recent post (and the spirit of a bottle of wine), I've decided to spake in truth...

1) I'm not meeting my targets at work. This is frustrating the crap out of me. It's my first commercial role, and I'm not used to underachieving. I think I made my target this quarter, but only just.
2) I hate anything to do with finances. I hate doing tax. Especially when I have to do tax in Dutch. Which is why I'm ignoring it, hoping it'll get done while I'm not looking.
3) I've had a bottle of wine and I'm a lightweight these days.
4) My hockey team sucks at the moment. Not just the team, the team mates. There's a whole lot of internal bitching and no gezelligheid. It's the first time where I've been contemplating not playing for the rest of the season.
5) My stomach is flabby and my butt sags. It's not fat, but it's just not 18 anymore. That realisation sucks.
6) Despite this, I'm still hot.
7) Pregnancy repulses me. I think there is something wrong with me, because I look at pregnant women, including my own beloved friends, and I feel repulsed at the distorted stomach. Look at what that 'thing' is doing to your body. URGH... *Shudder*. I don't think my reaction is normal for a 26-year-old woman.
8) Sometimes I do fantasise about 'my' wedding. But only one aspect - not about the venue, the dress or the flower arrangements... instead I choreograph the opening dance... then I feel silly and give myself a swift slap.
9) I adore my boyfriend for putting up with my bag full of psychosises... psychoses... bag full of crazy.
10) I just burped. Twice.

Come on summer... please

God, I am sick of this grey weather. And it's set to storm, hail and snow again this weekend. Apparently. Just in time for the weekend hockey games, of course.

On the upside, we did have almost a whole day of sunshine on Monday. Woo hoo. I came home practically bouncing off the walls... "the sun's shining, the sun's shining! Let's go for a run, anywhere, somewhere, outside, come oooooon... let's go go go..." Making hay while the sun shines took on a literal meaning.

Back on the Wilder's front (my latest rant), the Dutch MP has told the Prime Minister that he should apologise to Geert, for creating a "crisis situation". The rule of thumb with most of Dutch associates is that if you follow, or take, Geert Wilders seriously, you're an idiot.

Sticking with the Islamic argument (or non-argument), while pottering around in yet another hail/rain storm the other day, I decided to wrap my scarf around my head in an attempt to a) keep the hair dry and b) keep the hair under control. I decided there is something to be said for wearing a hijab on a daily basis. Are you allowed to wear one for convenience, not religious beliefs? I don't see why not.

Amendment: SA Blog Awards were out last night. Congrats to the winners - and thanks to any readers (mostly my family), for voting for me. I dig you guys :-)

What's happening..?

Meet Geert Wilders, a Dutch MP.

He's put together an anti-Koran video which was released on a video sharing website, because none of the TV-senders in the Netherlands would air it... probably with good reason. The video looks like something put together by semi-educated 15-year-olds.


The video itself consists of old footage of the Madrid and London Underground bombings, 9/11, a beheading.... gruesome bloody footage, imposed with heart-tugging string musics and verses of the Koran insighting violence on infidels. The video ends with the 'inevitable future' of the Netherlands, under Muslim law. It's pure emotive propaganda.


My favourite part is the bit where he shows a 'picture' of a convicted killer (who killed a Dutch TV producer), which is actually the face of a current Muslim actor and rapper in the Netherlands. Ag, you know these people... they all look alike anyway.


If you're interested, you should be able to view the video by searching "Fitna" on youtube or liveleak.com. Personally, I feel the world should only start paying Geert attention when he dyes his hair a more natural colour (his current hair colour borders on green).

In the biggest hypocrisy, a man was arrested in Amsterdam for saying what Wilders says... but using 'Jew' and 'Judaism' instead of Muslim and Islamic. Wilders is revered for expressing freedom of speech, and this guy is arrested for saying the same things but about different people? How the fuck does that work?

IN other news, I joined NC for a trip to the Weddingbeurs (exhibition) to see if we could brainstorm any inspiration for her upcoming big day. The fashion show was interesting. It had all the usual elements: pretty, elegant ladies in white flowing gowns, accessorised by a few well-manicured 'grooms'... garnished with a roll-on bed (complete with a bridal make-out session), a bride on roller skates and a lesbian bridal snog on stage. All of this went down without so much as a blink from the crowded audience. I must be really traditional - I was not expecting girl on girl action at the Bridal Expo.

Anywho.

I also thoroughly enjoyed the idea of getting the bridal couple made as "Taart Toppers" for the wedding cake. Now, instead of just being conventionally gawdy, you can take kitschness one step further and put YOURSELF on the cake!

Tarty Toppers: http://www.exclusievetaarttoppers.nl/
Mini-me the bridal couple: http://store.mymemory.nl/index.php?act=viewCat&catId=32

So classy, it makes me cry a little.

Windmill Will

I think that more people should know about this man.

Why?

Because he did this.

What an amazing man. I feel ashamed that I haven't done anything with my tertiary degree, compared to what he did without formal education.

That's it. You can read the articles and his blog for yourself.
Forgive me. It's late, I have a cold and a throat infection, and I'm not feeling very eloquent.

White Easter

In the Netherlands, they have a saying for this time of year: "April, doet wat wil." April can do anything. This year, that's certainly applied for March. The weather varies from sunny to windy, stormy, hailing, sleeting and snow - a few times each day.

So it was an interesting Easter, to wake up on Monday morning to a mild blizzard.

We pottered off to Groningen to visit the fortified village of Bourtange on the German border. It's a random place to visit (because it's 3 hours away and there is not much to do once you've circum-nativigated it in 30minutes), but was a lovely weekend as we were joined by Mills's siblings.

We had a monster of an easter egg hunt on Sunday morning. We hid them in the garden around our self-catering bungalow (although Mills's sister chose to hide them in the neighbour's garden, which got a bit awkward when they opened their curtains). We did have a few artistic differences, as Mills and his family take great delight in hiding eggs as inaccessibly as possible, while I'm more a fan of keeping them in eyesight (in order to speed up the consumption process).

The view from our bungalow on Sunday...

...And then on Easter Monday.

Despite having to dodge a few hail/snow storms to stay dry, the weekend went smoothly. We had to trudge through the sludgy snow to get to work this morning, but at least we didn't get stuck in the massive traffic jams around Holland. Scroll down in this story to see the traffic report. The red bits are where traffic has come to a complete standstill. According to the news reports, there was over 800km of unmoving vehicles in the Netherlands... a country estimated to be three times the size of the Kruger National Park. Which is really not that big for that much traffic.

Included in the same story is this link, showing kids who found a patch of black ice on a road in Brabant this weekend. They claim to have phoned the authorities first... and then, with true journalistic ethics, hung around to film cars and bikes handling the unexpected slippery surface. With interesting results.

Today's BS news story

This poppycock on www.dutchnews.nl today:

Easter is the new Christmas, according to Tuesday’s ADnewspaper which points out that last year supermarkets offered an Easter assortment of 80 products and have now extended this to 100.

Market researchers are queuing up to explain how Easter is increasing in popularity and supermarket Albert Heijn even has a ‘theme manager Easter’.

Joop Holla of research agency GfK expects turnover to increase by 7% this weekend, although he does say some of this will be due to general price rises. ‘Easter is a more personal holiday than Christmas which fits in with the trend towards individualisation,’ said Lex de Witt from Trendbox.

And according to Albert Heijn’s Chantal Wijnbergen, people eat a lighter dinner
than at Christmas, opting for chicken and salmon rather than game. ‘And brunch is
popular, so we have thought up all sorts of brunch varieties,’ she said.

Easter is definitely bigger than Christmas in The Netherlands. This is mostly because Christmas is overshadowed by Sinter Klaas celebrations in the festive season. Shops start selling easter eggs at about midnight on 26th December (that's what it seemed like anyway). But I was definitely not aware that supermarkets have upped their stock by 20% - and added more brunch variety! Fascinating.

I have no idea what the hell Lex de Witt was banging on about - 'Easter is more personal than Christmas which fits the trend of individualisation.' Huh?

Almost as interesting as the story that piano tuners are a dying trade in South Africa. Although this story is actually quite emotive. Where HAVE all the piano tuners gone... long time passing..?

Mucking in

(Disclaimer - I've just realised that I've written this whole post about Mills. Heather Mills, not my Ginger Bearded Boyfriend!)

I haven't been following the Mills-McCartney case. I do know that Heather is not well liked in the press, but hey - everybody loves to hate celebs.

On the Beeb this morning, they showed a few quotes from Mills after the divorce ruling... and either the British press really are good at vilifying saints, or Heather Mills really does herself no favours in the public image department.

My favourite quote was regarding her daughter's wellbeing. You see, poor Beatrice has only been awarded 35,000 GBP per annum for maintenance. I realise that in Paul's books that is a pittance, but Mills made the following argument: 'while her father will be flying first class, poor Beatrice will have to make do with flying second class. Of course, I'll pay for her ticket so she won't have to suffer like this..'

I'm paraphrasing, because I can't get to the full quote for some reason, but poor poor Beatrice. I truly feel for her - having a mother like that. My god. I could probably have mustered up some compassion if Mills had argued that Beatrice would not be able to enjoy the same educational standards as her McCartney half-siblings. But flying first class? Shame. Poor lass.

Actually, the more I watched of Mills as she talked outside the court, the more aggrevated I got. The woman is completely unhinged and people pay attention to her. It gets my blood right up - along with headlines featuring Pete Doherty and Jade-fucking-Goodie.

So what did Heather Mills do to gain the spotlight?

Before her marriage to Lord Macca, she was a model. This irked my interest enough to investigate, because at first glance I really didn't think she had anything to model. Yes, yes, all models are airbrushed, but most of them at least look decent in a semi-flattering camera light. Mills looks one button short of a straightjacket.

A (very quick) image search on google turned up some interesting pics. Yes, Mills is/was a model. A "glamour" model. I can't say this without snorting. In the UK, for some reason, soft pornstars are known as glamour girls. I'm not sure what's glamorous about showing full frontal minge (hairy or not), but there you go. Glamour model Mills. You can look it up yourself if you like, I'm not putting those pictures here.

Right, so Lord Macca was lead by his idiot handle into a marriage without a prenup. Stupid Paul. They spent four years together and then split up. Heather wanted about a quarter of his fortune for her efforts.

For what... being a devoted wife while he was out creating hit after hit with the Beatles? Because she gave up her career in order to nurture his genius while he was at his creative peak? She was born in 1968.

The judge rightly decided that the crazed woman did not have claim to McCartney's full wealth and so she was awarded a measly 24,3million pounds, plus 35,000 a year for her poor daughter. I know it's all relative, but that's hardly destitution. And yes, Mills might just have to fork out a little bit extra for her daughter's A-class air tickets, but that's what parenting's about sweetheart, both parents have to put in a little bit. It's not just from daddy's pocket.

To add more bunnies to the pot, Mills chucked water on the legal opposition after the decision was handed down. Classy.

There's also the story about Heather Mills impersonating a journalist by the same name.

And Sussex police are getting tired of Mills's trigger-happy dialing finger. After just one day of reading up on the woman, I've got to agree with them... Britney is missing a padded cellmate.

An image consultant interviewed on BBC was asked what Mills could/should do to mend her image in the press. The short answer - disappear completely and come back in a few years time...

Miss. Celine Milan

Lucky me. One Miss. [sic] Celine Milan has solicited my personal help in order to save her from financial ruin (and make myself very rich in a hurry). However, I have declined this kind offer for a number of editorial reasons...

Dearest, [Ed - if you have my email details, at least address the letter to me. It's common courtesy]

It is my pleasure to contact you for a business venture which I intend to establish in your country. Though I have not met with you before but I believe, one risk confiding in succeed sometimes in life [Business letter writing 101: Edit it].

There is this huge amount of Seven million five Hundered Thousand U.S dollars ($75,000.00) [This is 75 thousand, you innumerate] which my late Father kept for with a Fiduciary Fund Holder [nice use of thesaurus, or at least Wikipedia] in Abidjan before his death [No full stop. Lose more grammatical points]

Now I have decided to invest these money [Bad English. Minus 50 points] in your country or anywhere safe enough outside Africa for security and political reasons. I want you to help assist me claim and retrieve these fund from the Fiduciary Fund Holders and transfer it into your personal account in your country for investment purposes and my education [Maybe then you can like to make more better con letters]. If you can be of an assistance to me I will be pleased to offer to you 20% Of the total fund [Of the $7,5million or $75,000? There's a difference].

I await your soonest response.
Respectfully yours,

Miss. Celine Milan

After careful consideration of all the facts available, I must decline this respectful invitation, based largely on your lack of imagination. Mister Dobi Abdijbanga from Nigeria had a much better story about his dying (double amputee) mother's fortune being appropriated by corrupt governmental officials. Plus he offered 50% of the loot, if I kindly provide my bank details for his personal use. So I'm going with that offer instead.

ps. I don't care how respectfully mine you are, please stop sending me this shit.

Homesick moment

This evening, sitting at drinks after hockey, I had a moment. I have them on occassion (probably more often than I'd like to admit). Sometimes it's because I miss a family member, or my little big sis, or my dogs... tonight it was the Ballerinas.

I miss you porn stars.

Echt.

My current hockey dames are cool, in an okayish kind of way. We play hockey, they talk over my head, around me, or occassionally at me, in Dutch. As much as I understand most of what's going on, there's a lot of babbelen that I miss. Especially when they branch off into pairs or groups of three and all have different conversations, which confuses the hell out of my Dutch understanding (because then I hear every third sentence from every other conversation). Sometimes, it's very lonely.

There are no Girls of the Playboy mansion characters. No Peaches, Cracksisters, Nandos or noombies. No goal celebrating "hiep-hiep-SooRAY!" and no banshee cries of "I'm just gonna go CRAAAAZY!" at a random midweek practice.

It's just not the same, you know.

So to the Ballerinas, please will you: flash some noombie, shake some ass - and raise a cane and cremie to your cloggie comrade who's having a nostalgic moment.

Cheers.

Weather has happened overnight

This morning I got to work to find my desktop covered in anything that was not stapled to a solid surface. Including Vern the Love Fern. Every miscellaneous piece of office equipment was balanced precariously on my PC, monitor and keyboard. My mouse was unplugged... and my chair had lost its wheels.

All this, because I left work yesterday before my team mates (Fat Kid and Duckface) went home. So childish.


On previous occassions (yes, my computer has been treated to similar abuse more than once), my chair was also sodden from a cup of water, which I sat, I mean squelched down in.


In response, I set Duckface's autocorrect to change the to small penis. He is even less of a computer genius than me. His reaction was priceless... "I... I... did NOT... type that!!"


I also hid the Fat Kid's stash of crisps and chocolates, which was small consolation but at least gave me a reason to smile in retaliation. I need more creative ideas though. Any suggestions?


The MD was in this morning to hear my distressed cry/whine of, "where have they hidden my chair's wheels...?!" So she subsequently sent out a general email announcing that today was "Be EXTRA Nice To Koekie Day," instructing the Fat Kid and Duckface to wait on me hand and foot.
I'd prefer to call it Princess Koekie Day (it just rolls off the tongue), but the gesture was appreciated.


Moving on to top news. The weather in the Netherlands is windy.


This will most definitely not be reported in the daily papers tomorrow (unlike other countries), but it does mean that Central Station runs on a minimal service at a time when more people are using public transport than bikes. The reason? Because one of the multistorey buildings above the tram station consists largely of glass windows, which are not set but are rather precariously balanced in frames that could fall out in strong gusts of wind. Who the hell was the architect/engineer who okayed that design?


Hmmm, Netherlands. Windmills. Windy. So we'll just balance this wall of 3m x 3m glass panes seven storeys up. I'm sure it'll be fine... If not, we can just close off the central station down below. No worries.


Further to the trams being rerouted this evening, the robots/traffic lights/verkeerlichte around Central station were also out of order. This was a really interesting case study. Rosebank during a power outage is like poetry in motion compared to Den Haag centraal this evening. There's none of this one-one-one flow which we sometimes manage to synchronise in SA (provided no arsehole stuffs it up)...


What I witnessed this evening was a slow creep until all vehicles (including bikes) are bumper to bumper, wedged into each other in the middle of each intersection... kinda like an Escher work of art. Then it's just a matter of wills as to who has right of way.


Fortunately I was on the bus. When it comes to private property over municipal property... the bus driver wins simply by caring less about his vehicle's front fender.

Random Rant

Dear BBC

I understand the fact that your coastline (and Scotland's, which is apparently sometimes British and most times not) is being buffeted with storms and high tides. I also understand that you love any weather-related topic that you can turn into a terror-inducing headline.

However, I think this reader quote is pushing the boundary of newsworthy:

"We have had very heavy rain and wind overnight -
Gal, Sunningdale"

Please, please can you tell me why this comment should be highlighted in a news story? Please.

Unless Gal is a prodigious 6-month old baby, or a talking goat, this comment does not warrant any further discussion, let alone highlighting. At the very least, you could've added an 'e' onto the name. I know how you pommies love your witticism, and a solid dose of nominative determination is never lost on me.

Feel free to transfer this onto a post-it note and stick it on your news room fridge:

"We have had heavy rain and wind overnight" counts as weather, not news.

ps. loved the piece on gout this morning.
Keep up the good work.

The world's problems solved

You know what the problem is? I mean the real, root problem of the world?
I think it's over-population. I realise this may sound a bit like a Beeb headline ("New research has proven that over-population is causing world resources to be diminished...") but it goes deeper than global warming and traffic jams.

I think over-population is why people are so rude to each other and why there is no such thing as customer service any more (KLM). When there are so many other people to care about when pushing your way onto a train, a tram, or a ski lift, why even start to bother?

This week on the slopes, I noticed that our group attitude changed from surprise and shock at the shoving - to "well if other people don't care about me, why should I care about them?" The fact that his skis are over and across my snowboard indicates fairly conclusively that I was there first... but he is prepared to go over me to get to the chairlift three seconds earlier. So I feel justified by putting my backfoot on his skis, kicking his skipoles out from under him and pushing off.

Or something like that.

I also blame over-population for poor service. Customer Reps have a lot of people to deal with, most of whom will be complaining. And probably rightly so. So when you use the haughty threat of, "I'm taking my business elsewhere!", you get the same facial expression as I do from my pet fish in the morning (yes, Deaky is still alive). You might even get a shrug (from the rep, not my fish).

Did you know that in Venice, they sell bird food laced with contraceptive? They actually encourage people to feed the the pigeons, in order to stop them breeding. I love this idea, and I think it could be used with other species. Contraceptives in the water would cure all the world's problems. If you can afford bottled water, you can afford to have babies. For the record, I'd be drinking tap water.

Seriously, think about it. Why do people feel the need to kill themselves by diving in front of a commuter train? I think it's got less to do with a desperate cry for help and more to do with recognition. Yes, well done. Your bloody dismembered body parts have affected the lives of several thousand people. We still don't know your name, but YOU made a difference in a busy, packed world.

Why do those US pubes feel the need to kill as many fellow students as possible in one afternoon? Because otherwise, their teenage angst would be lost to the world, with so many other people/problems/teenagers with acne trying to compete for attention.

See, it all boils down to over-population. I like to think that in small rural (possibly very dusty) villages, people are still polite and offer some form of after-sale care. Call me idealistic.

I'm sure there are more examples to this hypothesis, but right now I have to get ready to kick a few small children and their teenage parents out of my way to work.