| GRAHAM'S BLOG |
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by Graham at 19.25.
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Welcome to Graham's worldwide blog.
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11 may 2011.
German washing
I am not rich, but not poor, so most things I need, like a washing machine I buy second hand. I bought a German Zannucci washing machine about 5 years ago, 100 Euros, 1500 new. And it works like a dream. Only problem was it took 4 blokes (not me) to carry it upstairs, it has a ton of something inside to stop it shaking. And with usual German precision it works like a dream. I was changing my bed stuff today and I thought that quilt could do with a wash, about a year later than a women would have noticed, but hey I am a bachelor. And the cushion has seen better days, so I slung them both in the machine.
3 hours later it was stuck on something so I moved it on, it washed again, rinsed again, but the stuff was too heavy and it wouldn't spin. German technology is simple no spin, you can't open the door, water everywhere, so spin or nothing. I tried everything but I could not get it to let me open the door, even without power or water. So as usual when I have a problem I hit the net, nothing, now I know I brag about my language skills but a German NG? Well with not a little difficulty a guy, kindly in English, told me to look on the face for 'abpumpen'. I looked 'N' abpumpen, so I set the dial at N, waited and in 10 minutes it stopped, turned itself off and I could open the door. The quilt and cushion are now dripping on the balcony, but they look very clean. \
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ID card
28 April 2011
All this talk of birth certificates, when I wanted to become a Dutchman 10 years ago, I turned up and asked, they wanted to see my passport, no problem but they also wanted a birth certificate, which I had, but no good, I needed a special birth certificate, a so called Apostille. It is basically my birth certificate with a stamp on it from the British Home office. So I rang my mother and she went to the local registry office and asked for such a thing. No problem, 10 pounds for the birth certificate, which we had, and 40 to get it Aposille. Nobody in the registry office asked my mother for any ID.
So a month later I got an Apostille birth certificate. And the Dutch were happy, using the same system I could have got a British Passport and Apostille in my dead brothers name. And the Dutch knew this, but now they have a paper ( Apostille) signed and sealed by the British Home office saying everything is correct, which btw it is. After becoming a Dutch citizen, with passport, all that needed to happen was for Britain to send a letter saying I am no longer a British subject. My Dutch nationalization took a month, they wanted me, the British Home office took 8 months and charged me 200 pounds to inform me and the Dutch government, I was no longer British. In the summer I am goingto visit my 84 year old British mother, and we are going to try and get this Dutchman a British passport. 200 quid surely they will kow I am no longer British..... Won't they?
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Fell off
24 May 2008
It had to happen, for the first time I fell off my electric bike, "fell
off?" more like tripped. I had done my saturday shopping and was on my way
home when my left shoe lace got caught in my pedal, so I slowed down to
release it, and when I came to a stop it was still entwined so I couldn't
put my foot down and over I went.
For once I fell on my 'good' side so getting up would have been no problem
except my on top foot was still tied to the pedal, after several attempts at
getting released from the beast, I gave up and waited. Cars stopped, people
got off their bikes, and people came running out of their houses. Finally a
young lady came to my face and said,
"It's OK I am a nurse".
I politely pointed out I am the world champion faller, I was fine but my
foot was tied up to the pedal.
People were stopping and offering help by the second, finally one bloke took
charge and he together with a total stranger tried to get my lace free.
Somebody shouted, "Shall I call an ambulance?", and some guy doing
absolutely nothing just watching with his hands in his pockets said, "I
think the fire brigade would be better." Somebody else shouted, "Pull his
shoe off", this they tried, and me laying on the ground thinking, my mother
always said wear clean underwear in case you have an accident, don't
remember her saying wear clean socks. Anyway I always tie my shoes very
tight so they couldn't get it off.
The guy who had taken charge at the foot end shouted, "Has anybody got a
pocket knife?", all quiet, "scissors?", he shouted optimistically. And then
a rather nice looking middle aged woman pushed forward and shyly pulled a
knife from her handbag, I say knife it was more a blade, nasty looking
thing, had she been a teenager with that thing she would probably have been
arrested. Anyway with one swoop she cut me free, put her blade away and
disappeared into the sunset. I wouldn't like to meet her on a dark night,
well I would actually, good looking women.
Anyway I was helped up, with very little dignity, I thanked everybody and
tried to make a clean getaway, and seeing there was no blood or guts the
crowd dispersed. Except for one woman who had run out of her house, she
said, "I know you", I said "do you?", "Yes", she said, "You are the computer
man, I saw you give a demonstration earlier in the year".
I thought holy Lord please don't let het have a computer problem, anyway I
didn't wait to hear I politely said, "Bugger off". Then I got on my bike and
sped away as fast as I could. I wish Sam the cam had been there, would have
made a great photo. Whisky anybody?
Graham
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A day at the shops
Today in Holland is Sinta Claus, (St.Nickolas) and good little boys and
girls get nice presents. I decided to go and buy some paint for my spare
bedroom and a super electronic store is selling shiny printing paper cheap.
So far so good, so I grab my 500 paper pack and head for the door before I
see something for the computer I don't need but want. Now these stores have
a habit of packing the place full at this time of year so when a women and
two little kids pass me on the right hand side I have to lean to the left.
Now one of her offspring, a little blond haired lad about 18 inches high,
for some reason takes it into his head to push me out of the way, no contest
you may say, but, my legs aren't always helpful. They have been severely
trained to go forward, and sideways is a big negative. Sideways used to mean
landing on my head, until a gang of us got together and taught them (my
legs) that they should not do that. But never underestimate the will of a
pair of legs. Graham ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
About bombing
About 25 years ago I was living with a women here in Friesland on her farm.
She was...is... from Rotterdam and a women who is not backward in coming
forward, the kind of woman I like. Then I got an invitation to my sisters
wedding and we decided to go together. At the reception dinner Ans (that's
her name and I am still like the crazy old cow) and I got paired up on one
table with my now late uncle Raymond and his wife. Uncle Ray was a many
times decorated RAF bomber pilot, and a very nice gentle man, he was also a
very successful businessman. So it was a nice polite English summer wedding.
Then half way in the meal Ans said "You guys didn't need to drop quite
so many bombs on my fathers
house".
Rotterdam got it bad, first from the Germans, then when that important
harbour was in German hands from the allies and finally when it was relieved
every night and day from either pilots that flew in bad weather and thought
Rotterdam was Germany. Or were coming home and needed to release the
unexploded bombs in the sea and Rotterdam stretches out to sea.
The truth is Rotterdam got blitzed by the Allies and more or less flattened,
and though the Dutch are not vindictive, Ans and a highly decorated RAF
pilot from Bomber command on one table was a problem waiting to happen, I
thought. Graham ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Sample
The early sixties, northern English industrial working town, a small ten
year old boy with freckles walks shyly carrying an empty bottle through a
pub car park towards a rear door, not really a door, more a half door, only
the top half opens, the little boy hopes a horse will look out, he has never
seen a real horse. He softly presses a bell marked 'Off sales'. A buxom lady
wearing a white apron opens the half door looks down,
"Hello Gra Gra, must be Saturday, bottle of best for your dad is it?"
The urchin nods shyly, gives the woman his empty bottle and the two shilling
piece he was clutching tightly. The woman reaches backwards takes a pint
bottle from a crate behind her, and gives it to Gra Gra with her right hand
and pats him on the head with her left. She then gives him his one and
threepence change, smiles and the lad walks home contented.
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Liberation day.
I went swimming and decided to bike into the city to get myself some fish
from the open market. As I approached the centre the road was blocked off
and security guys told me I couldn't take my bike into the centre of the
city. There are a load of concerts and shows and who knows what because it
is Liberation day. He then went through my back pack looking for alcohol, he
got his hands nice and wet on my wet towel;-) Well it is a nice day so I
decided to walk into town. I am not a big fan of these street party things,
too busy for me.
Anyway a few minutes later I saw a crowd and curiosity killed the cat, so I
walked over and there was the Prime Minister of The Netherlands strolling
around chatting to folk having his photo taken (no I do not take my camera
to the fish market and I had left my camera phone at home). Nobody tells me
nothing, I didn't know he was in town. Anyway I had a good close look at him
and it occurred to me besides a couple of men in suites hanging around it
was unbelievably easy to get up close. Security?
THEN I looked over my shoulder and nearly fell off my feet. Quietly standing
next to me was this guy built like a brick shit house, obviously wearing a
bullet proof vest under his sweat shirt and that was not his wallet he was
holding in his pocket. If you ever wondered what one of those Special
forces/SAS blokes look like in civilian clothes, this is what they look
like.
Me, never backward in coming forward, told him how I was just thinking how
little security there is, not that it was that obvious who he was I added,
he smiled and said have no fear, WE are here. I believed him. Then I said,
"Any bloody way what you doing standing behind me? Do I look like a
Terrorist?"
He laughed, and said "Yes, you have a back pack." I was tempted to tell him
to stand still when talking to a tax payer, he had this nasty habit of
turning and looking around all the time. But I decided not to, anyway Harry
Potter (The Dutch PM) was moving away, so he did the same.
I retrieved my bike and went to the Supermarket instead. But it nice to know
these guys, at least here in Holland are accessible and won't blow your head
off if you talk to them;-)
Graham
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Bugger.
I fell off me bike in the snow, went arse over
tit, usual red knuckles,
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18 August 2002.
The Gloryhole
Yesterday afternoon (Saturday) while preparing dinner I chopped up some Broccoli and
put it in a pan.It turned out my guest does not like broccoli so I left it and opened
a tin of something. This evening when I looked in
the pan, the broccoli had turned brownish so I decided to deep six it
(that's cockney for ditch), so I threw the vedge and water down the Glory
Hole. (aka Toilet). And you have guessed it, an hour later I discovered by
means that are not relevant to this tale, that it was blocked. This is at 7
o'clock on a Sunday evening.
Call a plumber, Ha! So out with shirt and hand, then elbow, then entire arm
down the Glory hole. I could not free it, I wanted to have a glass of
something strong, but for obvious reasons decided not to. Then it came to
me, Broccoli, when raw is hard, but when cooked is soft, so if I could cook
the broccoli, voila. (It takes a strange mind to be a bachelor), so I took
my soup ladle and a bucket and ladle by ladle emptied the Glory hole of all
the cold water, and other contents. (I did have a glass of the strong stuff
while doing this, for obvious reasons). Should I ever invite you to dinner
and serve soup, you will never know which ladle I am using. Anyway in
between I had boiled two giant pans of water, and then came Le moment
supreme, I poured in the first one, and as it says on British fireworks,
"light the touchpaper and retire." I sat for ten minutes next to the Glory
hole and waited, and slowly but surely the water began to sink down, half an
hour later it was gone. So I poured in the second pan of boiling water. Et
voila, it went down in 3 minutes. I flushed and all was clear. (It takes a
strange mind to be a bachelor).
If anybody comments that pouring down hot water would have worked anyway,
with or without Broccoli, I will invite them to dinner and serve soup using
a ladle.
I have spent the last two hours in the Glory hole and five minutes in the
shower. I still like broccoli and it still takes a strange mind to be a
bachelor.
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28 July 2001.
The clip round the ear 'ole.
Only yesterday I was reflecting, having just read Sweet Janie's
story about her leg, what a really quiet life I lead. Until today.
Being a normal Saturday afternoon I packed up my plastic bags and went
off to the supermarket. Was a normal Saturday shopping day, met a very
well tanned friend, who told me what a wonderful Computer tan I have,
(none thus), and did my shopping. It wasn't until I got to the cash
point that things started to go wrong.
First of all I noticed for the first time in my life, that at least
half the (lady) shoppers were staring at the two (litre) bottles of
wine and the rest of shopping in my trolley. Can't think why I noticed
this for the first time today. Anyway, I got to the cash desk, paid
for my things, and then the young lady asked if I wanted the free
grocery cards. These are strange things that supermarkets give away
when you spend a certain amount of money to get a free I don't know
what. Well I never save these things myself, but waste not want not, I
always take them, and give them to somebody else. Sometimes makes
somebody rather happy.
So I took my two cards and started to pack it all in when I
noticed a perfectly normal looking lady next to me doing the same. So
I tapped her on the shoulder and without a word offered the cards,
don't usually need to say anything, they are usually grabbed up. Then
this lady (and I use the word in the loosest terms), turned around and
gave me the most terrible look with evil in her eyes. My first thought
was I shouldn't have sent Marian that unrequested graphic, and that
she had flown (on her broomstick) across the pond, to pay me back in
person. (We all have our own nightmares.) Then without warning she
gave me the most horrendous ''clip round the ear 'ole.'' For the sake
of our American cousins that means she hit me on my ear.
Now I wouldn't call myself a wimp, (though others might), I have
in my day played Rugby, but I must confess it brought tears to my
eyes. I was completely stunned. At that moment a rather attractive
lady of about 45 came over to me, not to condone me but she said,
''Well if you are giving those away I would rather like them,'' my
first thought seeing her age was to ask her if she would like to join
in the Can We group, but I didn't, I simply handed them over. By now
about a dozen women had gathered round the women who had struck me and
though they didn't give her a round of applause, they were very close
to doing so. Their husbands meanwhile, having more experience of angry
women shoppers than me, (being a bachelor) had (wisely) withdrawn to a
safe distance and were examining the ceiling. Then a spotty faced
youth of about 10 appeared and informed all and sundry that he was the
manager. He spent a few minutes listening to the women who had hit me,
along with by now two dozen witness statements, I think the word rape
was mentioned, but I carried on packing my groceries,
getting ever more red in the face, partly from the sore ear and partly
from the embarrassment. Finally the spotty-faced Perry Mason came over to me, (and not to help
with the packing). Then I realised that I had just given the evidence
away to Miss Can We under 50's group, life for me and my work permit
were not looking good.
I realised it was time for action, so I pulled myself up to my
full height, looked Spotty in the eye, and in a loud, clear voice, so
that every witness could here, told him in my best Dutch, (Coby if you
want to control my grammar I'll mail you privately), and told him to
"Go forth and multiply".
I then turned around and without looking back walked out of the
store. I have an idea I heard a slight applause from the lurking
husbands, but I can't be sure, after all they have there Saturday
evenings peace to think of. I then decided to take some drastic
action, so I came home poured a glass of wine and wrote it all to my
friends on Fifty-plus.
And now I have just about stopped shaking (I'm not sure form anger
or fear), and its time for another glass of wine. Have a nice day.
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March 2004. The
bubble bath On a Wednesday morning at the swimming baths I visit, there is an
Underwater Aerobics class for the elderly. After there session in the small
pool many of the seniors come into the main pool area to relax for ten
minutes in one of the bubble pools. As normal this morning eight of them
climbed down and squeezed into a bubble pool, leaving shampoo and glasses on
the side. Just as they were getting settled a charming young man, probably
about 15 years old, went over and looking down into the pool, and had a
polite chat with a couple of the grannies. Now anyone below retirement age,
and who had there glasses on, could see he was fiddling with something
hidden behind his back, and a gang of half a dozen of his buddies looking on
sneakily from a safe distance, told me that something was not quite right.
After the young man had finished his polite chat he bent over a little to
say good day, and I, and his buddies noticed that he slipped whatever he had
been fiddling with, into the pool. The gentle folk had hardly finished
commenting what a nice young man he was, when the pool turned white with
millions of soap bubbles, engulfing the gentle folk above there heads.
Obviously the urchin had taken one of the bottles of shampoo, unscrewed the
top and slipped it into the bubble pool.
All hell broke loose, and the panic to get up the single ladder was a
sight to be seen. With the two life guards trying to help but making things
worse, it resembled a scene from Monty Python, and most of the regular
swimmers were roaring with laughter. The life guard screaming that soap
bubbles won't hurt anybody didn't seem to help, but obviously Senior
Aerobics works as nobody's pacemaker actually stopped working and they all
got out in one piece, if a little shaken up.
Afterwards one of the guards who knows me from my daily visits, asked if
I had seen who done it, but being a fully paid up member of the hear no
evil, see no evil, speak no evil club, I shrugged my shoulders. When I left
the water a muffled "Thanks Mister", from a quiet corner, made me smile
again. Good shampoo. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 23
January 2006.
After the party.
There are many tales about who discovered Australia, it was most certainly
not Cook. Abel Tasman, was undoubtedly a Dutchman, and they named
Tasmania ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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