A Declaration of Independence

A Declaration of Independence

If you live in a foreign country, or even when you are travelling, you will find that the local population will often consider you to be a spokesman, a representative and the embodiment of your country of origin. You will be held responsible for its actions. For example, way back in 1982 a year long bike trip around North America coincided with the ' Falkland Crisis'. I was often asked why I had invaded the Falklands?! Back home in Breda, the Dutch city where I live, during a rare trip to the local Chinese take-away, it was 1997, the young girl behind the counter was chatty and friendly but her mood changed when she discovered I was British, angrily she demanded to know why I had given Hong Kong back to China?! Now in 2019, and for the last three years, I am constantly being asked why I want to leave Europe?!!! When confronted by this last question and when writing this column it's hard for me not to embark on a long and angry discourse, involving a lot of unprintable language, to convey what I really think about Brexit.

Brexit doesn't, however, just make me angry it also makes me sad.

Sad that a bunch of (over) privileged people have managed to persuade under privileged people that their lives will magically improve if the United Kingdom leaves the European Union. It won't.

Whatever happens there will inevitably be some people who will profit from the outcome but, and you can bet your life on this, it won't be the poor and needy.

Sad too that political leaders of all shades, over the whole world, still think the way do solve internal problems is simply to blame foreigners and outsiders.

But let's stick to my personal circumstances.

Last week I received a letter from the Dutch Department of Immigration containing a document, to be activated if the Britain leaves the EU with no deal, entitling me to remain in The Netherlands until July 2020. Coincidentally the same day I had an appointment at the local City Hall to discuss the situation. As it turns out I qualify and my paperwork is adequate for all the options open to me for continuing my residence in The Netherlands. If or when I make my choice there will be no barriers but, of course, there are costs involved. Not an awful lot of money but money I would rather be spending on something else. Maybe I can persuade the Brexit instigators and voters to pay for the extra expenses I will  incur due to their actions?

Or......

I could try a few options not suggested by the Department of Immigration.

Like asking for asylum? Probably not, I suspect that being governed by an inept and dysfunctional parliament is not enough grounds for refugee status.

What about a divorce? My partner was shocked by this suggestion for a second, until I explained that I meant from the United Kingdom not from her. However I rejected the idea almost instantly, judging by recent history it would take far too long to reach a settlement!

How about this though? I could declare myself an independent nation! Now that does have possibilities.

The fact that I would have to apply to become a member of the European Union shouldn't be a problem. With Britain gone, there will be a vacancy and with the Republic of Bob, New Bobland, Bobizstan, Bobzania or Boblandia being situated close to the Dutch/Belgian border, a relatively short drive to Brussels, it should be possible to negotiate membership in just a week or two!

Oh, and by the way, I promise not to invade anybody or give away any territories.

Muskrat Ramble

Muskrat Ramble 

Last week a polling card arrived by post, telling me where and when I could vote. Now , I know that previously I've informed you that I have been more or less disenfranchised. I wrote that for various reasons the only elections I can take part in are for our local city council but I misinformed you. I'd forgotten that I can also vote for the regional water authority! Nobody knows why but since 2014 the electorate are expected to vote for some of the seats on these ancient and previously undemocratic local authorities. Well to be honest, I expect somebody does know why but I haven't met him, or her, yet. One third of The Netherlands is below sea level, and quite a lot of it was previously under the sea, so water management is of the utmost importance. I mean, if the dikes begin to leak you can't just hope that a small boy will chance along and save the country by plugging the hole with his finger! Yet the public are far from enthusiastic about these elections, many will not bother to vote. It takes time and effort to work out the policies of all the traditional political parties and other lesser known parties and special interest groups taking part. And the issues, however important, do not exactly fire the general public's imagination!

I will vote... and not just because it's one of the few things I can vote for. As it happens I have a passing knowledge of the wide and wonderful world of water, for many years I have provided cartoons for the magazine 'Dutch Sewers and Water Management' (Top of your reading list I expect!). However my choice will be, at least partly, guided by the attitudes towards trapping and killing muskrats. For many people, and I think the Dutch public in general, these creatures are four-legged terrorists that, due to their tunnelling activities, are threatening the security and stability of the dikes and drainage systems in the lowlands and thus are a threat to the whole community. Consequently the government has an extensive national programme aimed at wiping out the whole species. However nature, conservation and environmental organisations consider this programme to be costly, ineffective and even counter productive.

Ah well....while we're on the subject of rodents...let's talk about hamsters....

...Back in December/January I took part in a campaign to brighten the lives of refugee children, just a little bit, by sending them greeting cards. On the back of the cards, alongside the greeting, there was a questionnaire. It asked, among other things, my favourite colour, my favourite Dutch song (that was difficult) and my favourite Dutch word, I can't remember what word I chose but I think it was something worthy, appropriate and, for a child, really boring! Pity. Last week a newspaper article reminded me of a word that really is a favourite. Apparently Dutch people have started hoarding essential medicines manufactured in Britain fearing that the supply may dry up when GB leaves the European Union. Hoarding is not a very attractive human trait however the Dutch word for hoarding is. That word is hamsteren, the literal translation would be hamstering. The verb ' to hamster' is based on the hamsters habit of storing food in its cheek pouches for later consumption. Another of my favourite Dutch verbs based on animal behaviour, is ijsberen , literally ' to polar bear' like me, if I'm forced to stay indoors for any length of time, pacing up, down and around the room, like a bear in a cage. There are other examples in Dutch and I can think of about twenty in English. Instead of listing them maybe it would be more fun to invent some new ones, especially after a glass of wine with friends or a beer or two in the pub. 
How about:

to walrus = to lay around (e.g. like Russian tourists) on the beach or in the health spa,

to marmot = to spend a lot of time sleeping,

to butterfly = to flit effortlessly from one thing/subject/task to another.

to muskrat = to dig holes in dikes.........

…...oops!...maybe I should leave that last one out.... if I really want to save the muskrats from extermination!

(Cartoons  first published  in Access , an expat magazine, 2018 and  'Riolering', water management magazine, ' 2015)

Natural Habitat

Natural Habitat

It was 19^th December we arrived much too early. I had forgotten that performances in bars or cafés never begin anywhere close to the advertised time. However, it was a lucky mistake. Another characteristic of live music in cafés is that the venues rarely suit the purpose. This one was long and narrow with a bar running most of the way down one side. However we managed to find ourselves a perfect spot at the corner of the bar, close enough but not too close to the podium. From this position we watched as the musicians fiddled, struggled and unravelled switches, sockets, cables, microphones, music stands and drum kits. A woman dressed in a shabby track suit, looking every bit as if she'd just escaped from rehab, occasionally gave helpful advice. The man next to me started a conversation, on discovering that I was British he asked me why I wanted to leave Europe. My answer was brief, partly because I couldn't be bothered to explain the whole Brexit thing yet again but mostly because his evening meal had contained way too much garlic!

I was born and grew up in London during the sixties There can't have been many places at any time with so much and such a diversity of music! The older brothers of some of the girls we used to hang around with were into modern jazz. There was a Traditional Jazz revival based, somewhat loosely, on 1920's music from New Orleans. Rock and Roll had arrived, my older sister bought her first ever record, it was Elvis Presley, we played it secretly in our attic. When I left school the Beatles,The Rolling Stones and similar bands were emerging. Then there was a 'folk revival', a curious mixture of (using modern terminology) Americana, Singer- Songwriters, and bearded men in knitted jumpers and  women with long straight hair, in flowery smocks, singing traditional English, Irish and Scottish ballads. Collectively they were  known as folk singers! There were clubs everywhere, jazz clubs, blues clubs, folk clubs and more. Well known ones like Ronnie Scott's, The 100 Club or the Marquee Club and an infinite number of others above or behind pubs, in bars and there were lots of damp and dingy cellars. Other venues included decaying hotels,schools,universities, church halls and derelict factories. Often small and/or uncomfortable, in the weekends they were crowded. Oh yes.. and I had friends who were repeatedly forming and reforming bands, while others were closely involved or part of the folk scene. It's not so surprising then that I spent a lot of my time in pubs, clubs and other places watching and listening to live music. The beer and the attractive young women were, of course, a welcome bonus!

The last sound check was over. The band was ready. The track-suited lady had transformed into a perfect copy of a 1940's, 50's jazz singer, with voice to match. Music from before my time. Because of those early brushes with jazz, in an age of blues-rock and protest songs, female singers like Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holliday and the less well known Blossom Dearie were my guilty pleasures. This band mostly played numbers by Peggy Lee, you can add her to that list. The bar filled up, the musicians moved into top gear. The beer flowed, the conversations got louder but never so loud that they interfered with the music.

As I ordered another couple of beers brewed by Belgium Trappist monks I was hit by a tidal wave of good feelings. The atmosphere, the jazz, the singer, the gentle babble of conversation, the beer, the amiable bar staff and enthusiastic customers. Cool music in a warm café on a cold, wet, midwinter evening, it felt good, it was good. I even became quite friendly with Mr Garlicbreath sitting next to me!

A different era, different country, different town, different beer and different music but nonetheless a rare sighting of the Robertus Potestates (Bob Powers) in its natural habitat.

Play it again Sam!

Brexpat

Brexpat

Abraham Lincoln said “ You can please some of the people all of the time, you can please all of the people some of the time but you can't please all of the people all of the time” - true - but the British government, with considerable help from the opposition parties, have found a way to displease all of the people all at the same time! To explain all the twists and turns that have led to the current state of affairs concerning Britain and the European Union would take up more space than I allow for these columns. So I will restrict myself to my own situation, a British citizen living in the European Union. A situation which, like the whole Brexit story, is about as clear as a pint of Guiness!

Early in the negotiations is was agreed that the status of Brits living in the EU and EU citizens living in Britain would be protected however if there is no deal will this agreement still be valid? Nobody seems to know. As a result I have been studying my options which, depending on the outcome, could mean doing absolutely nothing or a change of nationality.

I find myself reluctant to take this last step but I'm not at all sure why. I mean, it's not as if signing a piece of paper would make me Dutch overnight. I wouldn't suddenly start liking salty liquorice or smartlap (Dutch tear-jerk) music. I wouldn't start eating chocolate sprinkles for breakfast, talk loudly in public places or paint my face orange on April 27^th! I would become a Dutch citizen, not Dutch. Nor would losing my British Passport remove my last remaining traces of Britishness: eating toast with Marmite, listening to BBC Radio, a reluctance to show feelings or 'make a fuss' and (so I'm told) my typical British humour. Anyway, one of the options open to me, curiously called 'The Option', would enable me to become a Dutch national and retain my British passport. Now I rather like the idea of having a dual nationality, mildly exotic and more interesting than having just one, more a reason for taking the 'option' than resisting it!

It's true that despite having family and long standing friends in both countries I don't feel any deep emotional attachment to either The Netherlands or The United Kingdom as nations. It is also true that while other people are desperately searching for their roots I am quite happy with a vague and unconfirmed family history. Every person, however integrated, who lives somewhere other than their country of origin feels a bit of an outsider and most, and this certainly applies to me, would feel at least as much an outsider if, or when, they went back. Anyway for an artist (for want of a better word) and writer being 'a bit of an outsider' is more or less of part of the job and it seriously doesn't bother me. So, if it doesn't bother me either way, why would I hesitate to take on Dutch, or any other, citizenship for practical reasons?

Could wanderlust be the problem.

The Netherlands despite it's faults must be one of the easiest countries to live in but somewhere at the back of my mind I have a small but deep seated desire to move on, to experience new and more challenging places. But no, a feeling of transience caused by a repressed wanderlust, that's not it either. In reality I'm not going to suddenly pack up and leave. Age and finances would make a permanent move highly unlikely if not impossible! I'm here to stay, my trips to other countries just get a bit longer!

So what's the problem then?

Well-  the situation I'm faced with has been caused by, among other things :

a failed political gamble,

misinformed and misguided patriots, chauvenists, xenophobes and people with genuine grievances but the wrong target,

an ineffective and complacent campaign to remain in the EU

and a parliament full of politicians who were too scared or unwilling to point out that the referendum was not binding and that, although a significant number of the population (about 35% of the total electorate) were, rightly or wrongly, far from happy with the EU, the result did not give the government a mandate to make huge and far reaching constitutional changes and it certainly didn't give parliament the right to get the country into such a mess!

No, it's not the choices that I may have to make that are bothering me, it's the fact that, through no fault of my own, I may be forced to make them.

Oh, and by the way, I wasn't even allowed to vote!

Back On The Road Again

Back on the Road Again

While this autumn various friends drove around Greece, cooked in the south of France, cruised on the Rhine or hiked in Holland, I booked an all-inclusive-total-hip-replacement- tour just a short drive away from where I live. This two day package included food, accommodation AND a brand new, shiny hip prosthesis. Alcoholic drinks were not included but there were more drugs than you could wish for but maybe not the drugs that you would wish for!

We arrived early on a cold, dark, rainy, windy morning, the hospital was barely awake. I checked in at the reception and was shown to my room. In no time I was clothed in a ritual costume consisting of a back to front jacket and a pair of, what I can only call, lace panties! This was the point when Yvonne thought that it was time for her to leave!

Before long I was wheeled off in the direction of the operating room, stopping on the way to get some wires and stuff attached and have a large, over-sized hair- net added to my costume so that I now looked really cool!? In the OR a group of people wearing blue burka-like robes were  clustered around their bearded leader, for a moment I thought I'd crashed a 'Where Smurfs meet Islam' theme party. It all looked friendly and innocent enough but, as we all know, looks can be deceptive. After a short jovial chat with Ayatollah Smurf and half way through an amusing exchange in English with Expat Smurf everything went black.

I awoke,feeling every bit like I'd just been on the mother-of-all stag nights, in a different and unknown place, in pain, sliced, bruised, battered, disorientated, dehydrated, nauseous and having no recollection of what had happened the last few hours or how I got there.

I won't go on to tell you what indignities and unpleasantness followed. I will only say that a free ice lolly in the recovery area and an evening stroll down the corridor with a student nurse were not adequate compensation!

Ah well, that was just over a week ago, I was discharged early the next day, I feel fine, and to be honest I have only praise and appreciation for the hospital staff. Even though it was more or less a conveyor belt system, with up to 40 operations on some days, despite the ever changing stream of patients in various stages of preparation or recovery, they managed to be efficient, helpful, polite, friendly and all done with a personal touch. 

In little more than a week my recovery is at least on schedule maybe even better but there is still a way to go. I can walk around quite easily, although I have to use crutches, and any pains or discomforts are bearable. However at this relatively early stage of the  six week process daily life is a jumble of contradictions. I have plenty of time but can't really use it. 

I am not sick but there are a whole lot of things I can't do or places I can't go. I am restless but my movements are slow and deliberate. I'm really grateful for my partner's help but wish she didn't have to give it.

I am, surprisingly, patient with the step by step rehabilitation but I'm longing for it to be over and done with.

In the cellar below our apartment building there are three bicycles, a racing bike, a mountain bike and an antique cyclo-cross model all cleaned, oiled-up and ready to go but it'll be another five weeks before I'll be allowed to go out and play. There will still be some people out there asking themselves what this old guy with two hip replacements is going on about? He should be pottering around in a garden shed not racing around the countryside on bikes! Others know better. I´m just not ready for a gentle bike ride, a leisurely walk in the park or a cruise on the Rhine. I am still seeking new and different physical challenges. Okay, the bar is set somewhat lower, the aims more modest and to be honest some things that used to come easily even up until a few years ago have become a bit of a challenge.

 However,it's not all about performance. I enjoy searching for and discovering new trails and tracks.....

…...but the truth is that I'll just be glad to be back on the road again ….even if it's only because the beer taste better after a strenuous bike ride

The Great Cream Tea Controversy

The Great Cream Tea Controversy

Despite providing a seemingly never ending stream of internationally famous TV cooks, rightly or wrongly, food is not the first thing that comes to mind when thinking about Britain. If pushed most foreigners firstly mention fish & chips then maybe roast beef. Some, after some thought, may add “....and cream teas”.

A week or so ago three of us were trudging across the wide sandy beach to St. Michaels Mount in Cornwall. Instead of taking the stairs leading up to the monastry we headed straight for the refreshments. Although I don't have much of a sweet tooth I decided to do the tourist thing and go for a traditional cream tea. I should have known better!

Cream teas consist of scones (small cup-cake/muffin sized breads), clotted-cream (indirectly heated and slowly cooled cream from fresh full-cream cows milk) and strawberry jam

Although you can find cream teas all over the British Isles they are generally associated with the counties of Devon and Cornwall in the south-western tip of the British Isles.

But beware, the humble cream tea although disguised as a pleasant afternoon snack is the cause of many heated discussions and bitter arguments all of which pretty much start the same way. “How do YOU pronounce scone”? Do you rhyme scone with stone, cone or telephone or with gone? This debate has been going on for what seems like forever and will continue despite a recent survey, yes there was a serious survey on the subject, indicating that 51% of the respondents preferred the 'gone' variation.

However this is just the prelude. It's when it comes to how the scones should be consumed that things get really sticky! Should the jam be put on first and then the cream (The Cornish Method) or the cream first and the jam on top (The Devon Method)? At this point lines are drawn, positions are taken and vigorously defended. Even mentioning the wrong method in the wrong county will cause voices to be raised in anger and disbelief! If you actually topped your scones incorrectly I think there would be street riots, deportations and/or lynchings.

I've heard these discussions frequently, in fact, every time I've made the mistake of ordering a cream tea. This time I decided to risk my nephew's disapproving comments, the angry stares of strangers and the chance of being burnt as a witch. I thought I'd do my own little bit of research!

Aim: To find out what all the fuss is about.

Method: I took my two scones and sliced them horizontally, forming four discs, this is acceptable in Devon and Cornwall. I then proceeded to spread the cream on the top and bottom slice of scone 1 before adding a layer of jam. The remaining two discs I firstly spread with jam and then attempted to spread a layer of cream on top,.

Result: They both tasted pretty much the same. Scone 1 looked quite attractive, scone 2 was a mess.

Discussion: THe portion of clotted-cream came in a tub, had the consistency of butter and I was issued with a knife. Any outsider would, I think, spread the butter-like substance first. However sometimes the cream is served in a dish which comes with a spoon, in which case spreading the jam first and then topping it with a spoonful of cream would seem the obvious thing to do. Historically, in Devon clotted-cream was actually used as a substitute for butter which may well may go some way to explaining the regional differences. 

It does not, however, explain why people take it all so seriously!

I can only speculate that this due to: 

a) an increased desire for a regional identity in the face of increasing globalisation,

b) the human (and media) tendency to divide people into two opposing groups or

c) a clever marketing plan by the combined Cornish and Devon tourist boards......

whatever....

Conclusion: My advice when visiting Devon or Cornwall: 

do what one of my companions did that day: ORDER THE CHOCOLATE CAKE !

Hip Op

Hip Op

“So you want an hip operation”? Said the orthopaedic surgeon.

“No, not really” I said “but I don't think I can avoid it” !

He smiled absently, he was already scribbling down an estimate of my hip prosthesis dimensions..

Yes, I´m back on the medical merry-go-round..

The next step was the 'Preparation Pathway' : during one hospital visit a blood sample is taken, a cardiograph is made, you meet, in strict order, the chemist, the anaesthetist, the specialist nurse and the OR planner. At each stage you are expected to shake hands and reveal your date of birth before being shunted down the corridor to the next stop.

Some of you may know that three years ago I had a hip replacement operation. It was clear then that another would, at some time, have to follow..... but don´t worry I´m not going to bore you with my medical details or the upcoming operation.

All too often when people of my age get together the conversation turns to physical defects, illness or medication so I know how tedious it can be. Now, don´t get me wrong,  it's normal that we talk about our ailments or afflictions , after all at our ages we´ve all got some, but like tales concerning grandchildren and kitchen conversions, it can go on for far too long. And it often does. At some point during a social function I will snap back from a daydream to find that we are no longer discussing the medical dossiers of our circle of close friends or family but that we've moved on to the brother of a distant neighbour´s far relative...........

If the conversation involves operations an element of competition creeps in. Usually starting with “....but in my case.....” one of the company will go on to tell how their condition was rare, different and/or particularly complicated. Inevitably the next speaker will top that “...but in MY case.....” their condition was at least as rare, probably more complicated and involved a lot more drama. The next person may well add a late night ambulance dash and a near death experience. And so it goes on. The amount of pride some people have in their unusual or complicated surgery has always puzzled me. Now, I don´t know about you, but I want my operation to be as dull, ordinary and as free from drama as possible!

Oh and there are plenty of anecdotes. If you happen to mention that you are on the waiting list for an operation they  will come, thick and fast. They fall into two categories: firstly the horror stories: `I knew somebody who had that operation and he died two weeks later´ or, secondly, the wonder cures,  `You don´t want to bother with surgery I know somebody who knows somebody who was cured just by applying Mongolian cream cheese to the affected area and a change of diet'.

For the last three years despite some pain and discomfort and with the help of physiotherapy and medication I´ve pretty much been able to do everything I wanted to. However, earlier this year I noticed that people half as fit as I am were walking twice as fast as me. The time had come!  Any doubts were removed during a very enjoyable but often painful summer.

Some friends and acquaintances will be thinking ´...and about time too`!

During the last three years there was no shortage of well meaning but totally unasked for advice. The majority, excluding the professionals, thought that I should have the second hip replacement sooner rather that later. People who are afraid of spiders, mice, dentists, heights and so on seemed to think that having a bit of ones leg sawn off and replaced by a piece of metal was no big deal. No worse than, say, a visit to the hairdressers but with a bit more recovery time. They almost always backed their argument up by stating that EVERYBODY they had ever met who'd had an hip replacement wished they´d had it done earlier. That may well be true, but, if you really think about it,  this statement does mean that, although they may all have wished they'd had it done earlier, NONE of them actually did!  

See also: 

https://onlyalso.blogspot.com/2016/01/thesesticks-are-made-for-walking.html