This is the post I was going to
make before I became totally sidetracked by Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet.
Last week was a bit of a week.
First, came the high of finishing an unprecedented fifth in the pub quiz. I think we’ve probably peaked. There are a
handful of teams who regularly finish in
the top three and I’m pretty sure the reason why these guys have welcomed us so
readily is because they recognise we are not a threat. But still, it’s the
taking part that counts, and it remains the highlight of our social week.
However, that may change because
I have now made some new friends. My ‘lonely hearts’, or rather ‘middle-aged
empty nester seeks others in similar position’ ad attracted a handful of
replies on the English Speaking website. I spent a very happy afternoon taking tea with
three other ex-pats, all of whom seemed eager to meet up on a regular basis. Ex-pats tend to forge friendships pretty quickly,
and as much as I love my cat, and my computer, I do need to start getting out
more.
The lowlight of the week was the
serious incident with the boiler. We’ve had problems on and off with our
heating system since our arrival. The instruction
manual kindly left by our home owners is as incomprehensible in English as it
is in Dutch. Our super smug brain thermostat relays messages from the boiler in
the attic, and this week’s message was ‘pressure low, refill’. This is the
second time this message has occurred, first time we followed instructions as
best we could and all seemed well. This time not so good. As soon as Mr T had
left to board the train for an overnight meeting in Antwerp, there was an almighty
bang followed by the ominous sound of gallons of gushing water.
Fortunately my next door
neighbour was in, and who better to rise to the challenge of halting a flood
than a Dutchman. To my great relief he bounded
up the stairs and managed to stem the flow of water, not by sticking his finger
in a hole but by switching off a tap that Mr T must have inadvertently left loose
in his haste to head off to Antwerp. Fortunately there appears to be no
permanently damage to the house, or the boiler, which was repaired the next day
by a handsome heating engineer who reassured me there was an underlying fault
in the system, and the problem was not entirely caused by Mr T’s (lack of) plumbing
skills.
The main damage appears to be to my
nerves. I now find myself stealing closet glances at the ‘brain’, waiting for
the next incriminating message to pop up. I’m as jumpy as the cat. The slightest noise,
a rumble of an aircraft overhead, a slamming door, and we both start twitching.
Ed currently spends about ninety percent of the day hiding in the closet, and it’s
actually quite tempting to join him.
Cats hate change, and we have
moved him from a cul-de-sac where he was pretty much the only moggy on the
block, to a terraced house which backs onto an alley way frequented by several
other felines. We’ve so far encountered a slinky-malinky sort of Burmese thing
and a giant Tabby which although looking as harmless as fluffy pyjama case, probably
isn’t.
We both have to learn to relax,
and breathe…..
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