It was down to earth with a bump after our amazing holiday. Incidentally thank you for all the very complimentary comments about my posts. It’s amazing what a spot of sunshine can do for creativity. There are some writers who thrive on doom and gloom and I’m obviously not one of them. Give me some warm rays and I immediately become a better person.
Surely I can bring some of that Caribbean joie de vivre into my posts about everyday life here in Haarlem?
Take for example, my close encounters this week with Dutch workmen. That’s a jolly subject.
Encounter number one – at a friend’s house. Friend was having some building work. Two young Dutchmen erecting scaffolding on her balcony whilst we, a group of 6 ex-pats having a catch-up and a glass of wine inside playing cards. (Contrary to what some people might think, I would like to point out that this is the first time in several years of being a professional ex-pat wife that I have EVER spent an entire afternoon playing cards.) Loud thud from balcony as we see young Dutchman falling to his knees, clutching head. Large piece of metal, presumably some sort of scaffolding fixing, at his feet. Second rather shamefaced Dutchman hurriedly descending scaffolding to check on the wellbeing of his colleague below. Lots of blood.
I don’t do blood. I certainly don’t do gashes to the back of the head. Where was his hard hat? My friend insisted her builder had to go to hospital. Young builder insisted he was okay. She stood her ground. Two hours later he was back, cut glued together, and still no hard hat (although it was quite noticeable that this time he was the one who climbed up the scaffolding leaving his younger colleague on the ground….)
So what’s the moral of this story? Dutch (dis)regard for health and safety. Remember these people don’t wear cycle helmets. One American friend recently reported that her daughter couldn’t even buy a child seat for her bicycle because in the US they are considered unsafe. Here Dutch Mama’s strap their new born babies to their chest while they cycle the two older kids to school, one in a basket at the front, and another on a child-seat at the back. All completely helmet-less. This week while out and about Mr T and I spotted a woman transporting a full-size double mattress in her Bakfiets. Mr T said this was actually quite sensible, because when she over-balanced, which looked inevitable, she would at least have something soft to land on.
Meanwhile, encounters with Dutch workmen two and three. Dutch workmen are dour people. Our landlord had arranged to have our decking fixed. We live in a terrace – the only way into the backyard is through the house, which decking man and his mate had to do several times. It’s a mucky job replacing decking, they could have asked for a broom (I made them coffee, filter coffee, two cups each for Christ’s sake). Still, I knew there was no point cleaning up after them because on Friday close encounter with Dutch workman number four. The gardener. Again, lots of traipsing back and forwards through the house. Still no point cleaning the floor. The weather forecast for the weekend was wet (what’s new) Mr T and I would be traipsing our own dirt through the house. Cleaning is a thankless task. Have I ever mentioned my black carpet??
Anyway, at least my positive sunny attitude inspired me to attack my novel writing with re-newed vigour. They always tell you if something is working, be brave, kill your darlings. Take a different viewpoint. Turn the plot on its head.
I once read somewhere that dreams can provide useful inspiration for fiction writing. This week my dreams have included arriving on a cruise ship and discovering I hadn’t packed a party frock or any underwear (every woman’s nightmare), and having a teenage romance with Daniel Radcliffe.
I certainly know where the first dream stemmed from, but could my fantasy romance be a subliminal message to aim for a different market? YA (Young Adult) fiction is all the rage. Could I write from a teenage point of view? I don’t think so. Not a modern teenager at any rate. When I was a teenager I used public transport and a phone-box. I definitely couldn’t write anything for today’s market. (I would hasten to add that as fond as I am of Daniel my feelings for him are strictly maternal – or so I thought….)
So it’s back to the drawing board with the novel, and back to reality with the blog. In an effort to extend our up-beat tourist mood Mr T and I took the train to Dordrecht this weekend. Dordrecht, 20 kms south east of Rotterdam, is on the periphery of places we could possibly live when we have to make our summer move. The purpose of the trip was to either add it to our list of potential suspects, or eliminate it from our enquiries. It was an okay sort of place, the usual array of gabled houses, some interesting architecture and a waterfront which we told ourselves would be worth re-visiting in the sunshine (we seem to end up saying this about an awful lot of places in the Netherlands). It wasn’t exactly firing us up with any enthusiasm.
The only thing to do when you return from one good holiday is to book another, which is what we have done. Roll on August. Those fifty shades of grey Dutch skies may not be providing inspiration for any great writing, but they do are doing wonders for the travel industry.
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