Happy New Year

It’s been nothing but doom and gloom since we returned to the Netherlands from our Christmas/New Year break in the UK. Our hearty Dutch immune system must have temporarily slipped while we were out partying (all that hugging and kissing - so unhygienic) and we have been laid low with coughs, colds and general apathy, only venturing out to stock up on emergency supplies.  Finding any motivation to do anything has been a struggle.  The student returned to Haarlem with us, but she is studying vigorously for exams, and doesn’t want the distraction of having to get dressed to leave the house. With Mr T in bed for three days it has been like living in the Twilight Zone – curtains not opened until gone ten o’clock in the morning, and closed again by four, while outside that grey Dutch sky envelopes everything like a chilly damp blanket.

I knew Mr T was feeling better when he started to moan about day-time TV. I tell him I don’t usually watch any – apart from Escape to the Country which is one of my guilty pleasures.  This week the programme featured a single woman looking for a character cottage somewhere remote but still part of the community (a regular Escape to the Country oxymoron), a view (naturally) and a dining room that would comfortably accommodate 14 people.  In a cottage?   It could be a long search.

We returned to Haarlem with a car full of British goods – orange squash for Mr T, tea-bags for me and cat biscuits for Ed.  Why am I importing cat biscuits? I know it is totally irrational. The fact is, I have tried weaning him onto a different brand and the results were very unpleasant. Cat vomit and diarrhoea certainly take the shine of my vintage wooden floor. I may have miscalculated exactly how many sacks of cat-biscuits I need. Forgetting that we were only back in the UK in October, I still had two bags left in the cellar. It’s the overstock situation we had in the US all over again. No UK visitors were allowed unless they came bearing gifts of Sainsburys red-label tea-bags. When we left after three years I was giving the stuff away. I had also stock piled spray deodorant - not quite such an easy one to pass onto friends.  It’s the little home comforts that make the difference. (And in case anyone is wondering why I hoarded spray deodorant it was NOT because I had an issue with over-perspiration; in the US I could only buy roll-ons.)

The Dutch keep their Christmas decorations up until way in the new year so we have followed suit and kept our tree in the front room, despite my usual desire to have all things festive removed as soon as possible (I have even taken trees down on Boxing Day before). I have to admit it does bring a welcome cheery twinkling glow into the dreary January evenings. I bought Mr T a Crooks radiometer (a light mill) for Christmas. I don’t think he was overly impressed but I liked it. I saw it in a vintage shop in Amsterdam whilst out shopping with a new English friend and a Dutch woman I’d never met before. The Dutch woman instantly dismissed it as a useless waste of money (I suspect Mr T might feel the same) while I thought it quite fascinating.

For the uninitiated a Crookes radiometer (and this is totally lifted from Wikipedia) consists of an airtight glass bulb, containing a partial vacuum. Inside are a set of vanes mounted on a spindle. The vanes rotate when exposed to light, with faster rotation for more intense light, providing a quantitative measurement of electromagnetic radiation intensity.  

See - fascinating. Needless the say the damn thing doesn’t spin at all in the gloom of our living room. It has now been relegated to the kitchen where with the spotlights on, and the light from the extractor fan, it just about turns.  I knew all that December sunshine was just too good to be true!