It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas

Okay, I know it's still November, but I'll be home for Christmas three weeks from today! I started listening to Christmas songs at the office yesterday evening in an attempt to cheer myself up and am now midway through compiling an "alternative" Christmas playlist to burn onto CD for whoever wants it (siblings - copies for your cars will be in the post next week! and I expect them to be playing full blast when you're chauffeuring me around!)

I'm also in festive mood because the Dutch celebrate Sinterklaas next Tuesday. Kids leave their shoes out to be filled with sweets, and adults get drunk and make each other presents (a poem, a card, or in one friend's experience, a full sized papier maché turkey). The Sint has been the subject of quite a few news headlines this year as debate escalates about the political correctness of his helpers, the Zwarte Pieten (Black Petes). Tradition has it, though, that the Petes' faces are black due to the chimney soot, but I can't imagine them surviving this long in any other country.

Political debate aside, the streetlights are lit, the ice rinks are up, and Amsterdam looks prettier than it has all year. And not a single shop blaring cheesy Christmas songs - that generally doesn't kick in until the week before (if at all), by which time I will be winging my way home. All in all, the best of both worlds.

The cookery section, part 1 of ?

I think I'm taking the whole "feed a cold, starve a fever" thing a bit too literally. It's not even a proper cold - I have the sniffles and a sore throat - but the old wives' tale dictates that I have carte blanche to eat lots if I'm feeling peaky, so I am. It's not like I've ever needed an excuse to break out the comfort food. Hangover? Bacon sandwich. PMS? Macaroni cheese with bacon bits (you can see where this is headed, can't you). Sort-of cold? Bacon & cabbage, 21st-century style i.e. not mushy and flavourless, oh no. This recipe was pieced together from various descriptions of my uncle's take on the dish and about five text messages from my family on Sunday afternoon.

(Unbelievably moreish) bacon & cabbage

Serves 4-6 "normal" portions or 2-3 gluttonous ones

1 green Savoy cabbage
1 onion
about 15 pieces streaky bacon (smoked if you can get it, I'm limited to Dutch breakfast bacon which isn't bad but the pieces are tiny)
a handful of pine nuts
salt & pepper
a knob of butter
quarter pint chicken stock

So. First to the cabbage. Rinse it in some icy cold water and then chop roughly.

Bring the chicken stock to the boil in a largeish pot and throw in the cabbage. Cover and simmer for 15-20 minutes until the cabbage is soft but you don't want it to fall apart completely. Make sure it doesn't boil dry & add a tiny bit of water if needed.

While the cabbage is simmering away, chop your onion finely & fry off in the butter until it's golden brown. Remove the onion from the pan but leave all the buttery oniony juices in - you'll need these for frying off the bacon.

Fry the bacon in the onion juices (yum!) and remove when done. Leave to cool for a few minutes then chop roughly or just grab a scissors and snip the bacon into bits.

Next toss the pine nuts in the still warm onion & bacon juices for a couple of seconds. Remove and put with the onion & bacon bits.

When the cabbage is done, drain all the water off. Return to the pot and chuck in the pine nuts, onion and bacon bits. Season generously and mix through. Serve immediately!

Delicious on its own, or with a pile of creamy mashed potato, and maybe some sausages. And if you're me in my current state, follow with a half packet of chocolate biscuits and two cups of tea while bawling through the Grey's Anatomy Season 2 finale even though you've seen it before.

Fashion victim?

I swore I never would, but behold, the boots are out, and the jeans are in:




















Okay, so not quite Kate Moss, but oh so comfy and warm.

They come in threes, you know

Today did not start well.

It was my second as Bosslady, so I made a mad dash for the office in an effort to arrive before 9am, thus appearing Responsible and Professional. I made it in at around 8:58 but by 9:08, still no assistant... and then my phone rang. She called in sick. To my direct line (which no-one has). Who does that on day 2? I spent most of the morning in a fouler and most of the afternoon avoiding work.

Things started looking up at around 3pm when a mammoth chain of emails between myself, Sarah, Jenny and Julia kicked off. The end result? See below! We're headed to London in February to see The Sound Of Music. Hold on to your wimples...

Another downward turn followed at around 6:50 when Jenny & I left a beautiful 2 floor apartment in a great part of town after a viewing. Long story short, we're out of our current place on December 31st and had hoped to have somewhere to move into, but it's fallen through (and that's all I'm saying here, it was a horribly long, drawn out and stressful process). We loved this place but the couple renting it out had already shown it to some Irish girls and it looked like we were out of the running.

Onwards and upwards... another mad dash to Paradiso for a bit of a boogie to The Kooks, who were much improved since I last saw them in February and had the entire crowd screaming and stomping. Photos to follow over there once I've filtered out all the crap ones (of which there are many). So, good thing number 2 in the bag and it looked like my day was finally improving. The last thing I was expecting at 9pm, mid gig, was a phone number from the lady whose apartment we'd just viewed... when I got back to her half an hour later she said they'd had a bit of a think and reckoned we were a safer bet than three noisy Irish girls (ha!) So it looks like we have a place from 20th December, although I won't believe it til I'm hawking boxes up the three flights of steep windy stairs. We're signing the contract this Thursday and I will be taking gazillions of photos as soon as I can. It's got a balcony! And a bath! And central heating! And we won't have to brush our teeth in the kitchen sink!

I couldn't have been any more hyper leaving Paradiso to cycle home - so when I encountered the entire Kooks contingent crossing the road all I could think of to say to them was "howrya, great gig". What a waste!

So, proof that good things come in threes. Now to deal with tomorrow...

One of my favourite things

3rd of February, here we come!

It's week 47, apparently

My dad just pointed the above out to me on the phone and I am now all a-panic. I know it's almost the end of November and the shops in this don't-really-do-Christmas country are starting to fill up with tinselly tat, but now I have it in numbers: there are five weeks of 2006 left. Which means that:

- Oran and I are almost half way through our long distance stint
- I have 23 working days left to tick all the boxes on my management objectives form (am developing alarming workaholic tendencies)
- Flatmate Jenny & I have about two weeks to find somewhere to live (more on that later)
- I fly home for Christmas in four weeks and three days!

In the meantime, I have a new assistant to train, four gigs to go to this week alone, my very first interview with the lovely Tapes n Tapes this Wednesday for a web zine (link to follow once it's published, I promise), and a gazillion other things to accomplish (losing three kilos, buying knockout party dress, oh and Christmas shopping!)

Looks like weeks 48-52 will fly by at this rate.

Musical interlude

Oh my goodness. I've just found out that Ben Folds is playing here on January 30th. Cue much excitement.

I blame my ex-boyfriend for introducing me to Mr. Folds (then part of a Fivesome who were actually a threesome, but whatever). He lent me his signed copy of Whatever And Ever Amen back in 1998 and I was instantly hooked. We had a race with our friends at the time to see who could learn to play the most songs on piano by ear. I managed Evaporated, a little of Missing The War and the riff from Kate; our friend Conor had the whole thing down pat within about a week so he accompanied us on our tipsy evening singalongs around the chaplaincy piano. The next couple of months were universally soundtracked by these songs, so when we split up just after the Christmas break I had to give the album a rest for a while. (I considered keeping the signed copy, but I'm not that mean.)

Since then (seven years, has it been that long?) I've dipped in and out of Reinhold Messner and Ben's solo albums. I've also reacquainted myself with Whatever And Ever Amen, in the process proving Nick Hornby's theory that if you really love a song, it won't remind you of anything specific when you hear it. Now I just hear the songs. But I've never had the opportunity to hear them live... in a little over two months, I will. One to cross off my list of Acts To See Live Before I Die.

The Leg Endz return

Fifth week back at pub quiz for the winter season and we came third! We're in the money, etc. etc. We would've been second if my teammates had believed me when I said Johnny Hates Jazz were a real band. Dammit! Still, the proceeds will pay for our entry fee next week, where we will aim for the dizzy heights of second but more likely fall flat on our arses.

Tidbits from the weekend

It was meant to be a quiet one... whoops.

- Lily Allen concert: surprisingly good, backed by a kickass 9 piece band
- Gambling earnings: EUR30!
- Fussball skills: improving...still crap in defence but I can now score goals, whoo
- Real chocolate as substitute for cooking chocolate in rice krispie buns: heavenly
- Julia's nachos: I still want more
- Games played on games night: 3... 7-person Ligretto (loud), Celebrity (riotous), Asshole (neverending)
- Time I decided to go for frites after games night: 4.12am
- Frites: delicious
- Banana pancakes: perfect hangover cure
- Ugly Betty: new second favourite TV show after only 12 minutes
- Staff in American Book Center: amazingly helpful
- Bird Thai food: stellar
- Kenny vs. Spenny: unexpectedly hilarious
- Borat: meh

Now to a long and tiresome five-day week - but my last as a non-boss! I am quite terrified...

Vicious bears and running taps

(Note: This one's probably not for the squeamish.)

Last night I had a dream - okay, a nightmare - in which I was mauled by a bear. I have no idea how I ended up in such a situation but all of a sudden there I was, on a mountain somewhere, looking on in horror as Mr. Bear chewed off first one, then both of my hands. Seriously. I was left with two bloody arm stumps... and then I woke up in a cold sweat.

I have absolutely no idea what would've led my subconscious to this gory little scenario. I'm not a fan of horror films and haven't seen anything blood-and-gutsy (unless you count Grey's Anatomy) in months, maybe years. It's been a stressful week, though, and I did have two cheese sandwiches for lunch yesterday - perhaps contributing factors? Or is a dream like that proof that I have, in fact, gone completely batshit?

My colleagues were pretty sympathetic when I told the story earlier this afternoon. One guy on my team told me about a Russian custom for dealing with bad dreams. Apparently the thing to do is to go into the bathroom, turn on the taps full blast and tell the dream to the running water, thus washing it down the plughole. Good to know, but I sincerely hope I don't have cause to try it out any time soon.

Don't mug(g) yourself

Amsterdammers are notorious for their, er, unusual dress sense, and after three years here I've become pretty much oblivious to even the oddest get-ups. Stonewashed denim miniskirt, purple tights and cowboy boots? Just an average day at the office. Shorts, footless tights, leg warmers and sparkly flat shoes? Friday night down the pub. Blue shirt, red trousers, brown blazer? Saturday lunch. It seems that anything goes here, and whatever I might think of certain sartorial choices, a part of me has to applaud them - I'd certainly never have the confidence to dress like the natives.

However, nothing prepared me for what I encountered cycling down the Elandsgracht this morning: Fortysomething Man in Skinny Jeans and Ugg Boots. I just wish I'd had my camera.

Anything to take my mind off the fact that I'm working late... again

Here is a list, in no particular order, of words I overuse, some when I write, and some when I speak (can you guess which are which?)

- seriously
- cool
- brilliant
- fab
- actually
- meng (okay, not a real word)
- hello
- timeline
- process
- issue
- encode
- tracker
- lekker (Dutch, but still)
- totally
- doei (again with the Dutch!)

And, to balance things out, here's a list of words I should really use more.

- gobshite
- blimp
- squishy
- muppetry
- pernicious
- no

What words do you over/underuse?

Completely rusty

Since Oran moved back to Ireland, I've had to adjust to going solo on social occasions. It's been fine for the most part, but one interesting side effect has cropped up: with no boyfriend around, I occasionally get chatted up. Most of the time it's in indirect fashion so I usually manage to steer the conversation around to my lovely boyfriend, but I was completely thrown for a loop on Saturday night...

A bunch of us were at Foam in the midst of our Museumnacht rounds and had popped down to the bar for a couple of drinks. On my way back from the bathroom, I was all of a sudden accosted by a strapping English bloke, who didn't beat about the bush at all:

Him: "So, you have a lovely smile. I have a lovely number, would you like it?"

Me (floored, trying to channel Lily Allen and failing miserably): "Um... er... I don't have a phone" (what?!)

Him: "Yeah, right"

Me (mentally flailing): "I'm very, er, 19th century like that... I need to get back to my friends..."

At which point he walked off and I legged it back to the group to pass on the woeful chat up line I'd just been assaulted with and my even more woeful response. Except he didn't walk off, and about 30 seconds into my story I received a tap on the shoulder, and turned around to see the guy standing right behind me! Luckily he saw the funny side of it, but I'll be a little more discreet the next time I'm hit with a cheesy chat up line. And maybe more articulate when telling the guy where to go...

Never read the label

I just bought a low fat peach yogurt from our canteen for lunch and, upon opening it, noticed that it looked quite well-set and, well, jellyish, for a yogurt. So I checked out the ingredients list... and sure enough, near the top, I see "beef gelatine". Cue freakout.

Now, I know gelatine gets used in lots of things and I know there are far worse ingredients out there, but something about the combination of the yogurt's consistency, its rather wishy-washy yellow colour and the knowledge that it contained beef gelatine led me to the unshakeable thought that I was eating pure melted down cow hoof. I had one more mouthful before consigning it to the bin and I'm now consoling myself with a giant mug of hot chocolate. It'll be full fat yogurt for me next time - it might be bad for me, but at least it's edible.

A blog about a dog

The dog in question: Muffin, the funniest, coolest, cleverest, most human dog I've ever met and the greatest pet anyone could ever ask for, who was killed by a car last night. She gave my family and I countless laughs and paw-hugs during her short little life and we will miss her lots.

Rest in peace, little muppet.

Two wheels good... eventually

Flatmate Jenny doesn't cycle in the city. She has a bike out in the suburb where she works and zips around there no problem, but she has yet to work up enough courage to tackle the streets of Amsterdam proper. I've managed to avoid talking to her about my early days as a city biker - or at least I had until last night, when, over a giant bowl of Haagen-Dazs, I filled her in. I think I may have scared her even more...

My first (and worst fall) was on my very first visit to see Oran after he'd moved here. It was a scorching Indian summer's day and we'd spent the afternoon lounging around the Vondelpark. (I may have had a touch of sunstroke, which can't have helped.) Oran had very kindly given me his girlie bike and rented one for himself and we zipped around town for a while in the early evening so I could find my balance. I hadn't cycled in about twelve years and was surprised by how confident I felt. We decided to bike home through the park to change before dinner, so I took advantage of the relatively clear bike paths and upped my speed. Trouble was, for all the fast pedalling, I was having a little trouble biking in a straight line, and so when Oran appeared right beside me all of a sudden, I swerved in his direction... and our handlebars locked together. There wasn't much either of us could do at this stage but somehow Oran managed to stay on his bike as I flew off, did a bit of a somersault and landed hard on my right side. The next few minutes after that are a bit hazy but I do remember Oran phoning my parents for my health insurance number (my poor father!). I was then bundled into an ambulance and carted off to casualty, where I was kept waiting for a while before being checked for concussion and given a tetanus shot to ward off any potentially nasty beasties (I'd cut my right leg pretty badly - I still have scars...). The following 36 hours or so were rather painful, but the psychological effects lasted much longer. It took me a year after I moved here (almost two years after the accident) to get back on a bike.

I've had a couple of spills since I started cycling again two and a half years ago, but nothing as serious. I've learned the hard way that tram lines are the perfect width for a bike tyre and getting caught in one will result in a surefire fall. I've learned that there is a limit to my cycling abilities after a few drinks, but I've not yet fallen off while tipsy. But, most importantly, I've learned that, whatever the hazards, there is no better way to navigate and appreciate Amsterdam. Hopefully, in time, Jenny will arrive at the same conclusion.

New week, new start

This past weekend has been extremely unhealthy in more ways than one. My liver took a hit on Friday (drinking, dancing, some more drinking, some more dancing), my wallet on Saturday (we have River Island now!), and my waistline on both Saturday and Sunday evenings (Indian takeaway and icecream on Saturday, Canadian Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday). Trouble is, everything I've just listed was extremely enjoyable - particularly the shopping and the icecream - and thoughts of treadmills and salads and various money-saving activities don't fire me up nearly as much. So I'm adopting a softly softly catchy monkey approach - nicoise salad for dinner tonight, gym tomorrow, a two-hour climbing session on Wednesday, and no booze at all until the weekend (this last ticks both the "healthy" and "money-saving" boxes). So, here's to losing a few pounds and maybe gaining (or at least not squandering) a few euro in the process...

Check out the timestamp

Sure what else would I be doing on a rainy Thursday night but researching some weird and some wonderful kids' TV shows? Working late isn't bad. Sometimes. Although I have a funny feeling the next two months are going to feature a lot of cycling home in the dark and quickie reheated dinners. Roll on Christmas...

Random snippets

1: It's getting cold here. The romance of living in a 260-year-old apartment is starting to wear off - no central heating, people, and warming one's hands on a pot of tea isn't quite cutting it. We had to rearrange the living room furniture last night so we can put on our gas stove and not melt. The rest of the apartment, however, is still icy cold. Mission for this weekend: Buy fleece blanket, buy mini bedroom heater.

2: I think I may be addicted to chocolate-covered kruidnoten. They're small round ginger biscuits of the type that Sinterklaas leaves in children's shoes every December 5th, but of course the shops are full of them already and I'm certainly not objecting. The dark chocolate variety is especially tasty.

3: I am in a major gym rut. Four weeks and counting now since my last visit. Trouble is, the more I think about going back now, the less likely I am to follow through. I almost made it on Tuesday but ended up with the stupidest (and most Amsterdamesque) excuse for skipping: I thought I'd left my bike lights at home. So I stayed in the office until my stomach started growling and then, upon packing up to go home and have dinner, discovered the offending lights in a tiny pocket in my new handbag (damn you, bag, with all your useful compartments). Too late, though, I was already ravenous and would probably have passed out on the treadmill. I've put together a new Gym Playlist and brought my gear to work today in the hope that I'll be newly motivated, but truth be told I'd rather go home and curl up beside the gas stove with a pot of tea and a bag of chocolate-covered kruidnoten.

Wave to me as you are falling

Here's something I never thought I would be blogging about. Yesterday I paid a sizeable amount of money to be strapped out of a stranger and pushed out of a tiny doorless plane at 9,000 feet.

I'm not one of those adrenaline junkies who lives for their next buzz-inducing activity. Up until yesterday I'd never taken part in any kind of extreme sport, and, sad to say, my biggest rush came from finishing my master's thesis. But when Flatmate Jenny started talking about doing a skydive ahead of her upcoming 30th, I started thinking that maybe it'd be a cool thing to do. (I'm convinced that living in Amsterdam instils greater risk-taking, comfort-zone-leaving tendencies in people.) So, yesterday morning, she, Sarah, Angela and I, along with intrepid photographer Julia, headed to an airfield in the middle of the country to get our jump on.

Sarah & I elected to jump first and were promptly kitted out in some very form-fitting flight suits.



















Then it was time for a very thorough briefing, after which we were hauled (literally) on to our tiny plane. Note the lack of a door of any kind in the back - also no seats inside, and there was just about room for us both plus tandem buddies plus cameraman.














After taxiing around a field for about five minutes, it was time for liftoff and the start of our climb to 9,000 feet. At this point I was starting to get pretty shaky, and kept having to remind myself to breathe in and out. Still, up and up we climbed and soon it was time to go.

Sarah was jumping alongside the cameraman so I had to go first. After being strapped firmly on to my jumping buddy, we inched over to the (now completely open) doorway on our arses and I assumed the exit position - hanging out of the plane with my weight completely supported by buddy and plane. He pushed off and that was it... freefall. From what I can remember we dove headlong for about five seconds until he tapped me on the shoulder and we got into freefall position - arms out, legs out, just like you see on those extreme sports programmes. I wasn't sure at this point if I was actually enjoying it - I remember thinking that my mouth had gone really dry (I'd had it wide open in shock) and that I could feel my ears flapping madly in the wind. After the shortest thirty seconds of my life, my buddy pulled the chute and we shot into a sitting position. I remember thinking that a) I was a bit disappointed because I was starting to really enjoy the freefall and b) that it was so so quiet all of a sudden.

Once my buddy had sorted out the chute he started pointing things out to me on the ground. We were over some farmland between Hilversum and Utrecht, so not a whole lot of note to see, but it was nice to look down on the long strips of polder below. After a couple of minutes Sarah dropped by (har, har) with her tandem buddy and our respective buddies manoeuvred the chutes close enough for us to be able to talk/yell to each other (although our conversation was made up of several oh-my-gods and isn't-this-mads). Apparently flying so close together is highly unusual, but it certainly made for a funnier descent. Before I knew it we were at treetop height and bracing for landing in one of the polder fields. My feet touched the ground for a split second before I was pushed onto my knees into a huge rockstar skid through the long grass. And that was it. My buddy unstrapped me and I stood up and at that point started laughing uncontrollably. Sarah was about ten feet away in a similar state - it took us about half an hour to collect ourselves.

We were still buzzing on the bus ride back to the airfield and, in our high spirits, decided to concoct a cunning plan. We would arrive back to the others completely down in the mouth and dejected and regretful of having paid for such an awful experience. Rehearsals did not go well - we kept looking at each other and dissolving back into laughter - but we eventually managed to hone our sad faces, and recruited the cameraman and our jump buddies as additional ammo. So when the girls came to meet us in the hangar, I looked sullen and pretended I'd been ill, and Sarah was loudly apologising to my jump buddy who was berating her for wasting their time. Jenny and Angela's faces were priceless - I think we'd put them off somewhat - and after about five minutes we fessed up. The relief was immense.














Jenny and Angela managed to recover themselves and before long it was their turn to head off.















They returned just as hyper as Sarah and I, Jenny particularly proud of having blown a kiss to camera during freefall. After a couple of celebratory beers we were treated to the gala screening of Sarah and Jenny's videos - it was only then that it really dawned on us what we'd just done. Sarah's featured footage of my jump out of the plane and it was unbelievable to see how quickly I became just a dot in the sky below. I only found out then that I'd fallen 4,000 feet in 30 seconds. And my ears were fine! I'm never stressing out about plane travel again. I'm a little disappointed that I don't have any "action shots", but the extra 80 euro didn't quite seem justifiable. Next time, perhaps?

So that was that. Jenny crossed another thing off her "Things To Do Before I'm 3o" and "Extreme Experiences" lists and I have decided I might make a couple of lists of my own. Any suggestions?