alone

how hard is it to really be 'alone'? We think we crave it, but when we get it we fill it, with noise and motion and meaningless activities. How hard can it be to just sit in silence? How long can you last, just sitting still and listening? I like my own company, really I do; so why do I find it so hard to do NOTHING? Guilt? of course, a major drawback to the old slacking process. Insidious guilt, eating up our freedom. ADD? partly, a twitch that is hard to control at the best of times, impossible when I am supposed to be quiet. Like Tourettes of the body and brain, the minute I have one bit under control, another leaks out. There go my legs, then my hands... I want to yell STOPPIT and just be able to lay, limp and yet somehow glamorously across the patio furniture. Instead of leaping up every five minutes to do something stupidly useless and futile. When we were kids, didn't we used to able to lie for hours in long grass, just watching the ants? Or stand motionless up to our knees in a clay bedded spring, watching sticklebacks and leaves swirl around in the sluggish current? If I lay on the ground now, talking to the cats or the baby coots, someone will assume I have had some sort of attack, and try to resuscitate me. Wait, that last boat had two quite attractive young Police men in it.. maybe - oh who am I kidding. They will throw cold canal water on me and make me wear a hat in the heat. Perhaps I had better develop a taste for gardening, or some other displacement activity?

beach eating

We haven't been eating out much in the last 6 months, so we decided we had earned a nice dinner on the beach, and earlier this week I had been to a new bar right on the sea front, called Bries. I had a cup of tea, my guest had a hot chocolate. She said it was instant powdered, and I know the 'whipped cream' on top came straight from an aerosol, but somehow the location made up for it. The website said it was 'award winning' and the photos showed the rich and famous of the area enjoying themselves. So it was with joy in my heart that we set off to visit this evening; rain could not dampen my enthusiasm, nor could a longer than remembered trudge up the beach in deep sand. Even though the other places we passed were quiet and deserted, Bries was full; luckily for us they did have a table for 3 available, even if it was not the best located table in the room. It was right next to the kitchen area, and I lost count of how many times my chair was barged into without even an acknowledgement. The chairs were high and rather rickety, wobbling things; even when hubby and I swapped places no one commented on it, and as he has mobility issues it was quite important that he could at least sit safely and comfortably. We were giggling at this stage, so it wasn't a huge deal, merely annoying. Bear in mind this is a 'destination' bar/cafe, in a resort full of Porsches and Bentleys, a resort where the National Football team train, and where the Michelin starred Huis ter Duin is situated. Our 'waiter' was a cartoon character, he thought he was the most gorgeous thing in the place, and we were mere witnesses to his greatness. I have no idea what was going through his mind other than the sea breeze, but he obviously dismissed us as irrelevant from the start. Too old? Too poor, too English? No idea. His every statement/response was mechanical and rushed, parroted and meaningless. Maybe he would prefer to be 'discvered' or even become a rich womans boy toy.
Unbelievably the beer choice was Heineken, or Wieckse witte as a reluctant alternative. Not one other choice? Really? I went for a glass of house Rose, a very nice one but rather skimped on contents. Even the most rough and ready bar has a better choice than that, very disappointing. The service was laughable, really. Only our waiter though, I think; other people seemed to have better service. The menu was a triumph of style over substance as too many things are lately, overpriced and lacking in subtle details; no mention of side dishes that accompanied mains, or even if there was a choice. When asked about catch of the day, the waiter seemed ignorant to the point of obtuseness about how it was cooked and what was in it, no attempt to engage at all. He bought us a plank of wood with dishes containing butter, olive oil and balsamic vinegar, what I guess was a sort of mayonnaise (tarragon?) and a little round brown seeded loaf. This had a knife sticking out of it as though someone had stabbed it out of revenge or warning. He chucked it onto the table with no explanation or foreplay at all, and also no questions about did we need anything, like water. Now I will take a lot of carelessness if the food is good, and the food was not bad  as such... just inconsistent. Our friend had the beef tataki starter, which was rare beef in a soya and sesame dressing with seaweed and spring onion garnish. Rather on the sweet side, and the beef could have been served at room temperature instead of chilled, but other than those minor quibbles it was tender and enjoayable. A's starter of scampis in a chilli sauce was large, and he said fresh rather than frozen prawns. The sauce was creamy and a little bit unsubtle for the prawns, but he did eat it all. I was Mrs Awkward and asked if I could have the goat cheese starter as a main, becuase I knew I would not eat it all if I had 2 courses. I did not ask for it to be sized up as a main course, and I was not asked if I wanted it supersized, but I think they had somehow, because it was vast. I could not finish it all, which is not necessarily a good thing. Mainly because the waiter took my plate away whilst I was still chewing! Unbelievable, and rude. I could not speak with my mouth full, but because everyone else had finished he assumed I had too. He asked us without waiting for a response if we had enjoyed the meal, but did not ask if we needed anything else. One waitress asked if we wanted more fries because she saw I was still eating, but as said fries were frozen chips no better than Hendo, we said no thanks. Why skimp on fries? The catch of the day as eaten by A and E was fresh Red Snapper, but once again the waiter was clueless as to how it was cooked; luckily they said it was pretty good, on a bed of broccoli and green beans, with a beurre blanc sauce. One dish of frozen fries between them, and a small bowl of generic mayo. Why (again) skimp on things like fries when the prices are so expensive for the mains? Details are important, and make such a difference as to whether we return or not, but one reason for repeat business is, a waiter or manager who really cares about customers, not one who hangs on the back of my chair without introducing himself and asks completely insincere questions. And waiters; ask customers if they enjoyed a meal and listen to them! It's not hard. Engage with us, don't insult our intelligence.If you ask us whether we want dessert in a voice designed to discourage us from asking, don't be surprised when we tip you with a handful of coppers instead of our customary habit of 10 to 12%
I know, it's abit 'old', complaining about service, here, but even with some of our experiences over the years this one really makes me laugh manically. It's not rocket science, is it?
We had a fun night, really; just not entirely sure we are that bothered about going back.

today

today had an unexpected bonus re the weather; it started so grey and cold, but by the time I staggered home (running late as ever) I was regretting the extra layer between my coat and my cardi. Shame I then had barely five minutes to stuff some grapes and strawberries down my neck before heading next door for an English lesson. In reality this was 1.5 hours of gossip, and 35 minutes of actual lesson. So no sitting in the sunshine for me, as I then had to stuff over 100 folders into over 100 newspapers for spawn to deliver, followed by throwing a bolognese sauce together from scratch. At 5.20pm I have just sat down for the first time today, but I wanted to mull over something that happened. Outside the supermarket was a man, walking in the cycle lane. Young, pretty obviously down and out, and missing a leg. I know he was deliberately walking in the cycle lane, because  a cycling Politie man asked him to walk on the pavement as it was safer. His false leg was a roughly hewn stump of plank, not attached to his leg, but he had two lengths of cloth holding it on, which he had in his hand like a sling. It looked like the most painful and awkward method he could have come up with, so my interest was piqued. Why go to such lengths to make a point? As anyone will tell you, normally any beggar or 'character' makes a beeline for me, so I waited to see if he would, because for once I actually wanted to hear his tale; plus I thought I would offer him a fresh pear, just purchased. But he didn't stay on course, he had spotted the guys in fluoro jackets who are doing community service, and went for them instead. He had a piece of paper in his hand, so maybe he was looking for a hostel. So I am going to keep an eye out for him; which reminds me I haven't seen my 'regular' guy in a while. He must have once been pretty smart and cool, lived in Stockholm for 9 years and is fluent in Swedish, not ugly by any means. But lately more and more damaged looking and sounding, slipping through the cracks. I can kid myself I help when I give him money 'for the night shelter' or even when I buy him a hot drink and snack, and talk for ten minutes; but it's not really making a difference is it? Hastening his end if anything.
I can't help but think how easy it is to slip slide away.

holy crap

first the dealer over the road flings his door open and inflicts his (lack of) musical taste on the whole street, then next door decided to hold a balcony party complete with screams and talking over each other (OK that was not too annoying) and finally - it's dirty beer day. The concept of popping into the local on your way home from work in your dirty clothes. With karaoke knobs on. And dullards smoking under the windows of our house due to the anti smoking laws. I really don't mind hearing people enjoy themselves, but it's 5 to midnight and the house is actually vibrating from the bass frequency. We had a nice note through the door earlier, saying that there would be a party in the bar on Saturday, with live music until 1am; no mention was made of people howling throuhg the PA like wounded wolves on a friday? The bar is 2 doors away.
In all fairness, there has been no Police presence this evening, nor ambulances required; no screaming domestics, no vomiting (yet). I did make the neighbours who live above Mr Dealer laugh, by standing at the window childishly flicking the Vs at him and his dopey friends, then miming loading a large shotgun and firing it at them all.. I am going to research how to get people like that to move away. It was a lovely bakery, but two months after we moved in it closed down, and last year the shop was converted into two studio apartments; I think the other one is occupied by someone on witness protection as he is invisible, even when Fat Boy Slim was stuffing his ex girlfriend into the boot of a taxi he didn't show his face.
So, in a nutshell; I don't mind people enjoying themselves or having a drunken evening. I do object to having someone else's musical taste shoved down my lug holes at all hours. I might go to the bar tomorrow night, and tell the drunken flodders that Fat Boy Slim the dealer just called them all horrible names and offered to twat them all, then go and tell him the racist lot in the bar called him a big foreign pansy, then retire to my upstairs window to watch the carnage. I am just a big softy really.
And it isn't even summer yet.