Having A Bad Day

I’ve not had that many of these since arriving in Haarlem but every now and then the black cloud that represents the downside of expat living looms overhead.

Being on an overseas assignment gives you wonderful opportunities, but there are days when you just can’t appreciate them. I’ve seen the tulip fields, I’ve been up a windmill and I have taken a boat trip down a canal. So what next?

The worse thing about this ex-pat assignment (and funnily enough it was the best thing about our last one - payback time I suppose) is the weather. Dutch weather can be a tad depressing. Even on a bright sunny day there is still a wind chill factor of -10. So even when you think summer has arrived, an icy blast reminds you that it hasn't (and I am beginning to doubt it ever will).

This Tuesday was Liberation Day in the Netherlands, a national holiday celebrated every 5 years. Bevrijdingspops, huge free festivals are held at eight venues across Holland including Haarlem. So, just as the Kings Day funfair finally folded away in the Grote Markt,  hoards of young people arrived for the concert in the local park. Predictably, despite Tuesday morning dawning bright and sunny, at 12 noon the wind turned to hurricane force and the heavens opened. The Bevrijdingspop had to be gesloten – closed for another couple of hours.  When we strolled along at 5.00 pm the streets of Haarlem were littered with the debris of Dutch youth, having had two hours to kill and nowhere to go.

We went along for curiosities sake. As one female singer delivered a distinctly ‘Eurovision’ style song – lots of arm waving and a very repetitive chorus of Why, Why, Why (at least it was very easy to pick up the words and join in) I could see Mr T asking himself the same question. Why stand lost in a crowd of very tall drunken Dutch teenagers swigging beer and smoking joints when he could be sat in the comfort of his own home watching Pointless? (It must be an age thing.)

After narrowly avoiding being hit by a giant mud covered flying ball and a plastic cup of beer that some passing youth tossed over his shoulder with total disregard for whoever was behind him, I agreed that being back at home probably was the safest place to be. After all, we could still hear the music – did it matter that we couldn’t see who was singing it?

The tossed beer cup was just the start of a few days of Dutch bad manners, which although not normally bothering me (after all you get rude people everywhere) just seemed to culminate this week in darkening that ex-pat black cloud. Why did the man in the supermarket queue jump across to the newly opened checkout without letting those who had been waiting in the queue longest go first? (The poor woman in front of me was only buying a banana, she had even counted out the exact cash.) Why couldn’t the shop assistant sweeping the floor ask me to move out of the way rather than just shoving his broom into my feet? Is it that difficult to say pardon or excuse me?

Maybe I’ve just been pushed off the pavement one time too many.

Maybe I've got fed up of wearing my winter boots.

Fortunately, I know the feeling will pass. Meanwhile I think Ed has the right idea.