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?

Words fail me

Check this out.

Oh Johnny, Johnny, what have you done?!

Willoughby, will you not shake my hand?

A sad fact: I can at this stage recite most of the dialogue from Sense And Sensibility. It's on Dutch TV right now and I think I am starting to scare Flatmate Jenny somewhat. It may be the least annoying film Hugh Grant has ever made (although that's probably down to his extremely limited screentime). And now Kate Winslet has lost it completely so I must return my full attention to d'telly!

We're all going on a summer blogiday

Oh. It's been a couple of weeks. I've not given up on this thing - my absence is down to one part laziness, one part utter exhaustion and one part 'haven't found the time to get to the post office to pick up the replacement power cord for my laptop so I can blog from home and post the two memory cards full of photos I have to flickr'. So be prepared for a deluge of pics from a leaving party featuring customised pink t-shirts and edible necklaces, an utterly brilliant Beck concert (with puppets!), and our third booze cruise of the summer which ended up being the best by far, in spite of the lack of sparklers and not nearly enough cold beer.

Oh, and my cable works! And it is brilliant! I have all of the BBC channels (even BBC3 and BBC4) plus a rake of extra MTVs and, most importantly, the E! Channel. Quality hangover viewing at last.

Not in the dictionary

I am stuck at home again today waiting for my trial cable/internet/phone installation. The installation guys have 32 minutes left in their allotted timeslot and if they cancel again or don't show I will get violent... Anywho, I decided to play some Boggle in order to stave off my growing boredom, but would you look what I got in my very first game.

(ps... anyone know if Blogger's photo utility is broken or if it just hates Safari?)

Culture shock

Dublin is getting all cultured up!

We've had Museumnacht here for a couple of years now and it's always great craic. Last year we did origami, played with a giant camera and saw a great Annie Leibowitz exhibition; the year before that was heavenly beds at the Bible Museum and rocking out to MTV DJs at a photography gallery. Hopefully Dublin will get it right first time - although I'll be interested to see if they go the Amsterdam route and install bars in all the venues, and if they'll run it as late as they do here (wandering round a gallery at 1:30am, glass of vino in hand, is pretty funny). I'm already looking forward to our next Museumnacht in November.

The black dogs, sort of

I'm not dead, just trying to haul myself out of a post-holiday slump and a crazy weekend. The last couple of weeks have been insane, what with Paris, Antwerp, sisterly visit, too much sushi, day trip to Brussels and two extremely late nights (okay, early mornings) out. Plus, I've been struggling with a ridiculous pile of work, a mysterious appetite-killing stomach bug, a phone connection that still doesn't work and a completely severed laptop power cord.

Things are set to look up in the next couple of weeks, though - starting with the installation of our new (and free!) phone/internet/digital TV plus Beck at Paradiso tomorrow. Then it's a mere eight days until my payrise and back pay finally come through and I can start making plans to spend (and save) it all. Shiny new MacBook, here I come!

Back "home"

We're back from our travels, and there's so much to tell. I could write about my arrival in Gare du Nord, complete with huge homemade welcome sign, or about how we ate our way around the city, about the amazing view from Rebecca and Yucca's roof, or the steak frites, or the ridiculous opulence that is Versailles, or how strange French cinemas are, or the amazing red wine, or our lightning quick visit to the Eiffel Tower, or the fact that we missed our train to Antwerp by twelve hours, got another one to Brussels straight away and were bumped to first class, or the jumbo cocktails we downed in an Antwerp absinthe bar, or our recovery tactics the following day. I'm going to take the lazy option, though, and let the photos speak for themselves. Over here!

All things go

Loads going on here this week.

We had a wee party at our apartment last night to celebrate the airing of Rocking Roommate Jenny's first ever TV ad.


After gorging ourselves on the product for a while we decided to take the party outside:


We sort of had a second reason to celebrate too. My promotion - i.e. the reason I stayed in Amsterdam - was finally made official yesterday. I am now an Operations Manager, yo. Just don't ask me what that actually involves.

And now, Oran is here! Yay! He's here til Monday, and then on Tuesday I leave for Paris, where I'm meeting two of my sisters for some sightseeing and some craic in our own inimitable style. I'm sure there'll be lots of photos and stories on my return...

We're in a state of happiness

I'm proud to live anyplace that nurtures Irish musical genius. This ad is currently running on Dutch TV. Behold the boy Johnny in all his blonde-wigged glory...

Wouldn't it be good to be in your shoes

I realised about three hours ago that I'd completely forgotten to include Nik Kershaw on my cheesy 80s playlist, but have now made up for it with the tacky music gods and now have Wouldn't It Be Good blaring in my headphones. It's a pity it's 1.34am or I'd have it on full blast - this may be an old building but sadly the walls aren't quite that thick.

In other news, the ridiculous heat continues. Tomorrow's hot weather activity: watching the lions at the zoo eat blood flavoured ice-cubes. No, really.

Children behave...

It's Friday afternoon, but the minutes are crawling by and I have a huge pile of rather monotonous work to get through. So, I've put together a cheesy little 80s playlist to help me along (although it's probably taken longer to compile than it will to play from start to finish):

Toto - Africa
Belinda Carlisle - Heaven Is A Place On Earth
Billy Ocean - When The Going Gets Tough
T'pau - China In Your Hands
Eddie Cochran - Gimme Hope Joanna
Wet Wet Wet - Sweet Surrender
Queen - Radio Ga Ga
Los Lobos - La Bamba
The Cars - Drive
Tiffany - I Think We're Alone Now
Yazz & The Plastic Population - The Only Way Is Up
The Housemartins - Happy Hour
Kylie Minogue - The Locomotion

Quite a few of these songs/artists pop up on Now! 11, which is the first compilation tape I remember having at home (The Hits 6 came on vinyl). Actually, it may be the first pop music tape we had, full stop. My parents were avid tapers-off-the-radio (perhaps my illicit mp3 habit is genetic...) so there were always home-made mix tapes lying about. In fact, in a dusty corner of a drawer somewhere I believe there's still one marked "Catherine's tape" which has my favourite songs from the radio and MTUSA (the world's first music video show was Irish, people!) from when I was about three. I'm not sure if "favourite" means "made me dance and sing along" or "shut me up for three full minutes". Next time I'm home, I'll have to track it down.

For now, I'm checking Amazon for secondhand CD copies of Now 11 and marvelling at the tracklisting. I can't believe I was into Coldcut when I was seven... talk about full circle.

Bring me sunshine

Bliss... it's shaping up to be the Netherlands' hottest summer ever. A great excuse to shop, too.

It's alive

Okay, sort of. It looks like our upstairs neighbour has skipped the country, so short of phoning my landlord and telling him he was completely wrong about the phone wiring in his building and then begging him to lend us a spare key or open the door for the phone engineer himself, I'm not sure there's much I can do. So we are still sans phone and internet, but I finally snapped this evening and bought a wireless card so I can steal other people's internet. Sharing is caring, people. Anyway, I've uploaded some photos, downloaded some music and now I am feeling much more at ease.

Today seems to be a day of firsts. Earlier I experienced My First (and second) Scooter Ride - a colleague offered me a lift to a meeting on the back of his Vespa, and when have I ever said no to doing something new? It was very smooth and not at all scary, and my main worry throughout was how geeky I looked in my big black helmet. Definitely an experience worth repeating.

And this evening, I am finding myself alone in the apartment for the first time - just the bells from the church next door and Oran on IM for company. So far, so good. Next up, My First Bike Ride With A Handlebar In One Hand And A Hoover In The Other. I'll let you know how it goes.

[Edit: the Hoover Manoeuvre was a success! Although my left hand is shaking as I type this...]

More proof that my friends are cooler than me

This is much more interesting than anything that happened to me over the weekend.

My friend Julia was featured on PerezHilton.com! She happened to be in the Noordermarkt area when she snapped this photo. Had I not been running round a hockey pitch 20 miles away I would've pegged it over to get a pic of my own... swoon!

Still here

A shameful lack of blogging from me this week, and I'm sneaking this one in at work while my boss nips out for a cigarette. We still have no phone or internet in the apartment - an engineer came round this morning (he was booked for between 8 and 10am so of course showed up at 9.57) and after half an hour of fiddling about, he concluded that the external phone cable runs through the apartment upstairs, and of course there was no-one home. So it looks like we'll be incommunicado for another week or so, which will send me into full-on Bittorrent withdrawal (symptoms: cold sweat, fidgetiness, mumbling random bits of dialogue from Grey's Anatomy in one's sleep). My laptop is so old and clapped out that hijacking a neighbouring wireless connection is not an option. Worse still, I'll be missing out on all the gossip from home and long chats with Oran.

Even if we were all internetted up at home I'm not sure I would have squeezed in any blogging or even flickrification of photos from the weekend (crazy Canada Day festivities and sunny weather lazing). Since Oran left on Monday night my days have been a whirl of Ikea trips and barbecues and World Cup matches and fajitas and Haagen-Dazs and boat cruises (not to mention practical things like work and unpacking). It's been lovely to get out and about with friends I'm so happy and lucky to have, but I am starting to fret a little that not taking the time to settle into my new apartment and generally process all the changes of the past week in my head will eventually catch up with me and hit me all at once. I know that sitting in every night on my own is hardly healthy either, but there's a line between wallowing in misery and just stopping to think, and spending a bit of time on the latter side mightn't be a bad idea. Trouble is, I'm not quite sure when I'll get the chance.

All moved

Time for a lightning quick post (using a hijacked wireless connection) from my brand new apartment. Well, I'm the new bit, the building's 300 years old. I am still surrounded by boxes and bin bags and I honestly have no idea where I'm going to fit everything, but sure that's half the fun, right? New Roommate Jenny and I will have some craic tonight rearranging furniture and such. It's so hot out (I think 30 degrees already) it seems a shame to be stuck indoors all day. Time to head out and top up the sunburn I got from Canada Day festivities in the park on Saturday and three hours in Sarah's hammock yesterday (photos of both will follow when I manage to unearth my camera cable...)

Eight hours until I have to leave Oran to the airport. :(

Empty nest

Tonight is our last night in the apartment. We've just spent two and a half hours hawking boxes and bags of my stuff up to my new place; Oran's belongings are now winging their way home bar the suitcase he'll live out of for the weekend. All that's left here is our bedding, the mosquito net, and the bits and pieces we'll need in the morning. It feels so empty - I'd post photos to show just how empty but my camera cable is now a ten minute cycle away.

The end of a chapter, in more ways than one.

I'll be back on Tuesday, if my ISP decides to play nice and transfer my connection on time. If they screw up, as I'm fully expecting them to, I'll have to bide my time on the sofa with a jumbo sized bar of Ritter Sport and Gilmore Girls reruns... oh wait, I'll be doing that anyway. Except this time with no-one to curl up beside - not until July 28th.

Phew

Well, Death Cab For Cutie beat out football/voetbal/soccer in the finish, and didn't disappoint. We managed to get standing right up the front, directly beneath Ben Gibbard's mic and mini-drum stand. They were even better than the last time I'd seen them and are coming back again in the autumn! Yay! We managed to fight our way through the coat queue relatively quickly afterwards and then pegged it to the Irish pub round the corner in time for the (insanely dramatic) last 20 minutes of the Dutch game. It would appear that I'm now an England supporter - I'll have to trade in my brand new orange t-shirt for a red one.

Four days to go now until we move out of the apartment - I still haven't started packing but am planning to clear out my wardrobe and throw out unnecessary paperwork crap this evening. Oran's flight is booked for July 3rd but as the weekend just gone was our last in the apartment, we figured we'd have a slightly early leaving/apartment-trashing party. And so Saturday night came to pass, complete with electrocutions, ice fights, matching feet, inflated rubber gloves, and actual swinging from the rafters. Lots of photos via the Flickr link over there in the sidebar. I think you could say we've sent him off in style.

Scheduling conflict

I am in a quandary about what to do about my Sunday evening.

In the red corner:

In the blue corner:
















What to do?! I bought the Death Cab tickets last weekend without even thinking to check the voetbal schedule. Then Holland and Argentina had to go and draw, thus setting up the Sunday evening match. I did see Death Cab three months ago, but it's Ben Gibbard! And cute mini drum kits! And sweet songs! On the other hand, it's Oranje voetbal! And knockout stages! And public drunkenness!

So, do I sacrifice musical bliss for adopted patriotism? Will I be fired out of the country on my ear if I don't? Watch this space...

Flickrified

I'm having such an unproductive morning I thought I might as well go all out and play with Blogger. Et voilà, check out the pretty Flickr badge on the sidebar. Now I just need to get used to carrying my teeny tiny camera everywhere with me - I'm still keeping it wrapped in cotton wool at home because it's so new and shiny and pretty. There's always something to photograph in this city.

Sometimes I really love my job

I've just been sent a list of 8,000 karaoke songs and told to recommend a selection of 100 or so for potential use in a new project.

So far, I've given the following the thumbs up (and I'm only as far as B):

10cc - I'm Not In Love
2Unlimited - No Limit
4 Non Blondes - What's Up?
ABBA - Dancing Queen
Ace Of Base - All That She Wants
A-Ha - Take On Me
Arctic Monkeys - I Bet That You Look Good On The Dancefloor (giggle)
B*Witched - Blame It On The Weatherman (hee)
B52s - Love Shack

I am now torn between selecting Everybody or I Want It That Way from the Backstreet Boys' illustrious back catalogue. Both would be overkill, no?

I don't think I'm going to mind working late this evening.

(Edit: Daniel O'Donnell and Foster & Allen both appear on this list! How's a girl to choose?!)

Tick tick tick tick boom

Start the clock...

Two weeks until I have to leave Oran to the airport with the remainder of his stuff crammed tight into his suitcase.

Thirteen days until I move into my small but perfectly formed room in my new apartment and get used to living with a girl again.

Eleven days until we move out of this apartment with its three metre ceilings and its amazing kitchen and the dishwasher, oh how I'll miss the dishwasher.

Eight days (give or take) until I finally start packing after thinking up every excuse in the book to avoid the clearing out and the boxing up of all the crap I've accumulated over the past year and a half.

Five days until our last house party, when we'll hopefully get rid of most of the booze in our kitchen, so I'll have a couple less things to hawk over to the new place.

Two days until Holland play Argentina for the opportunity to finish top of their group.

Two hours until I go to bed and make lists and lists and lists of things to do and pack and throw out in my mind until I fall asleep.

Yep, things are going full tilt around here.

If it's Wednesday, it must be raining

I was right. (Okay, the ten weather forecasts I've been obsessively checking since the heatwave started were right.) The heavens opened right on schedule in the early hours of this morning and it's been a murky, grey and mercifully cool day. In spite of my weather forecast overload, I still managed to dress weather-inappropriately this morning and got a soaking on the way from work to the gym. Holding a flimsy pink umbrella in one hand while steering my bike with the other only shields me from so many raindrops; my light summer trousers were soaked through in about 45 seconds. I'm slightly ashamed at not owning either a rain jacket or a pair of rain pants - both essential items of clothing for the hardened city cyclist here. I usually take the tram to work if it's raining in the morning, but there's no accounting for sneaky Dutch weather. And anyway, rain pants are hardly practical if one wants to wear a skirt, are they?

So, no more long lazy evenings in the park for now, although it's set to warm up again at the weekend. I'm just happy I can get a decent night's sleep with the fan off and the windows shut.

Where I'm hoping to spend a good part of this week

The Vondelpark at dusk on Thursday. Unlike Irish parks, this one is open all night, which means impromptu parties until 2am in weather like this.

Right, definitely off this time. Important things to do like liberally applying fake tan so people aren't blinded by the sight of my bare legs.

Roastin'

Too hot to blog. Normal service will resume when the grey and murk and rain does - I'm giving it until Wednesday.

A frightening shade of pink

I'm back, plus two pairs of shoes, a pair of jeans, sunglasses, a halterneck top, a jumper, a belt, a brand new Canon Ixus 55 (woo!) and, less desirably, about four extra pounds, thanks to the temptations of Cadbury's and my mother's home cooking, and sunburned cleavage, thanks to the unexpectedly amazing weather. We had a scorcher of a weekend that looks set to continue through to Friday at least - given that it was eleven degrees and raining horizontally when I left Amsterdam on Thursday, packing sunglasses was the last thing on my mind. Hence the new purchase, although in fairness they were only a tenner.

Friday: Dublin and some lounging round St. Stephen's Green.















Saturday: back home and lots of lounging round in the back garden.















Sunday: delicious dinner and lounging round on the beach.
















Monday: mini-marathon, which was really 10k of lounging as I decided to walk it. Unfortunately no pictures as my brand new camera battery died and I didn't fancy Oran's suggested method of jamming the Dutch charger into an Irish socket ("I do it all the time...!") Suffice to say it was huge and colourful and there were lots of dodgy covers bands and many, many men in drag.

As for today: plane, sleep, laundry, bed, most of which counts as lounging. Then a three day work week (hurrah!) and apparently on Friday there's a small soccer tournament of sorts kicking off...

Proof that the internet is rotting my brain

Just before waking up this morning I had a dream that I had a myspace account (not so strange as I did set one up aaaaages ago but promptly forgot the password and really couldn't be bothered requesting a reminder). Anyway, in the dream I was a rabid myspacer, but also very lucky to count Sandra Bullock as one of my myspace friends. She friended me after meeting me in my home town while she and her hubby Keanu (I KNOW!) were filming in the area. She sent me a message to thank me for bringing me to quite possibly the scummiest bar in town, which I've never even been in. I'm very tempted to check it out this weekend though, just in case it's gone A-list all of a sudden. We do have Lisa Kudrow living in the area now, yah.

Surprise surprise

I've just sat back on the couch all "awwww" and "ohhh" after another great episode of Grey's Anatomy, only to have the dreaded words "voorlopige aflevering" flash up on screen. Last episode?! It's the middle of bloody season 2! You can't introduce us to Magical Heart Patient Denny and then leave us in the lurch like that! Damn stupid Dutch TV channels for driving me to the recaps on TVWP and other more nefarious means of getting my Grey's fix. I suppose I do have an excuse to get up off my arse and do something useful on a Tuesday night now... unless they plan on bringing back Gilmore Girls, in which case I'll be burrowing even deeper into the sofa.

Rolling stock

Long train journeys are so much better than long plane journeys. I tend to freak out somewhat on long haul flights - the combination of claustrophobia, dodgy food and my inability to get any sleep whatsoever usually has me reduced to a babbling wreck by wheels down. A long train ride, however, is much more of an opportunity to unwind and stretch out and eat homemade sandwiches while finishing books I've had on my nightstand for months and finally getting round to some sudoku. After fifteen and a half hours' train travel through three countries in the past five days, I'm really quite relaxed.

We had about five hours without rain throughout our whole stay in Germany, which made for less pottering than we'd hoped. We managed a few hours of soakage in Heidelberg on Friday, which was almost made worth it by the sight of all this (although we'd had lunch by the time we found it):



Saturday was spent wandering around Karlsruhe and buying various weird varieties of chocolate (green tea, pistachio, honey, bourbon vanilla, crepe suzette, strawberry & green pepper, fig & almond). We made a quick dash into MediaMarkt afterwards to see if they had the new MacBook in stock (no! still flogging iBooks at full price!) and left with a copy of a Boss Hoss album. The Hoss are a comedy yee-haw country band from Berlin who specialise in covers, including Hey Ya, Loser and, my personal favourite, Word Up. Germany would've won the Eurovision with these boys.

We also came across this on our travels, possibly the funniest of all the World Cup themed merchandise we saw (from football shaped cake tins to handbags made from inside out footballs):



The blurb on the back says it's powerful and fruity and the perfect accompaniment to that thrilling football match. I bet it's muck, but I'll keep you posted.

Obst und Gemüse*

We're off to Germany tomorrow (and possibly also a teeny bit of France and Switzerland) for some other-half-family-visiting and hopefully also some beer drinking and sausage eating. It's a five hour train journey from here to there and as usual, I have spent this evening making sure we are stocked up on less useful things like multiple printouts of today's Irish Times crossword and sudoku puzzles, decent reading material and, most importantly, some new songs to listen to. I am trying to limit myself to one iTunes purchase per month and am currently torn between the new Gnarls Barkley and Guillemots albums, even though I could buy both from iTunes for the price of one of the actual CDs in our friendly local record shop. Damn internet, messing with my logic and reasoning and keeping me from packing.

Back on Sunday for a short stint and then home for five days! Hurrah!

* These are three of the six German words (fruit and vegetables) I remember from secondary school, the other three being "sprechen sie Englisch?" My pidgin Dutch does help a little noq, but mostly I just end up confused...

Hypotheses, odds and good intentions

Theories tested over the weekend:

- It's Not A Good Night Unless There Are Bruises (true, last count four)
- Smaller People Make Better DJs (true)
- Wine Then Beer, You'll Feel Queer (true)

and last but not least
- The Hair Of The Dog (false, sadly)

Things I wish I'd put money on:

- Munster winning the European Cup final
- Finland winning the Eurovision
- my 20 euro shoes breaking at some stage on Saturday evening

Goals for this week:

- no beer
- at least one 5k run
- manage to keep my eyes open throughout the entire 5.5hr return journey to Brussels on Wednesday, and maybe even get some work done in my comfy first class seat

A parallel universe

It's been one of those weeks where things are a shade or two off "just right", with the net result being feelings of disorientation and "huh?"

Cases in point: we had a different quizmaster than usual at pub quiz on Monday, who was unbelievably slow, not at all funny and miscalculated the rankings at the end so we thought we'd come fourth for five glorious minutes when we were, in fact, sixth and just out of the points. We're still tenth overall in our bar's league, but not sure how much longer the glory will last.

Tuesday's not-quite-rightness was all thanks to Net5, who are messing about with their schedules yet again, causing me to miss the first half of Grey's Anatomy. Cue a panicked dash for the computer to fill in the blanks with the help of TVWP and my new best friend BitTorrent.

And last night, I fell sound asleep on the sofa at the ungodly hour of 8pm, waking up at 9.45 only to peel out my contact lenses and crawl into bed. I completely missed the Eurovision semifinal and Brian Kennedy qualifying. I reckon that counts as two things.

Today has been relatively normal thus far. However, if I have in fact slipped into a parallel universe, I am hoping that a furnished one bed in de Pijp within my budget will fall into my lap at some point this afternoon. Back in the real world, I'll continue freaking out. Six weeks to moving day!

Inversely proportional

Isn't it odd that when things are quiet I can ramble here for ages, but when there are actual Big Things going on it takes me five days to string a sentence together? No?

Alright, here goes.

Big Thing number one: I have a new job as of June 1st. Same company, different stuff, lots more responsibility, very exciting and not the kind of opportunity I could ever turn down. End of work talk.

Big Thing number two: I'm apartment hunting. This is a) because Oran is going home next month and b) because our lease is up and I can't afford to renew on my own.

Talk about bad timing.

In a nutshell, I can't leave and he can't really stay. It'll be tough, but we've managed time in different countries before and I'm sure we can do it again. In the meantime, I'm juggling two jobs, compulsively hitting 'refresh' on every expat rental site in the city and keeping every appendage crossed that the next six weeks go smoothly. After that, who knows...

My b flat baby

It's... a clarinet!



I've been talking about taking up a new (and portable) instrument for months. This was most definitely one of those in the running. Thanks to my cooler than cooler than cool family, I can now get cracking. Best belated birthday present ever!

Tradition schmadition

I have been quaking in my flip flops for the past few days in anticipation of the Dutch Office Birthday Ritual. I am not a huge fan of being the centre of attention for anything at work other than my mad co-ordinating skillz, so the thought of having to stand in the middle of a circle of people I mostly half-know and be repeatedly kissed (right cheek/left cheek/right cheek) and have songs sung about me in multiple languages makes me want to curl up in a small ball behind all the Madagascar soft toys under my desk. To make matters worse, some longstanding Dutch tradition dictates that the birthdayee buys his/her own cake, so I get to organise and pay for my annual mortification. Woohoo.

This year's ordeal finished minutes ago, and amazingly I only spent about half of it wanting to be magically transported out of the room and off to self-employment land where I can buy myself cake and sing Happy Birthday To Me every day of the week. The rest of the longest quarter of an hour ever was divided between wondering what's going on with my job as the guy who gave me my card isn't my boss yet but may be my boss but is he my boss? and shovelling large forkfuls of appelkruimelvlaai (that's apple crumble custard cake) into my mouth whilst maintaining an idiotic/appreciative grin. I really don't know what it is about these forced public displays that turns me into a gibbering wreck. I mean, it's not like I'm attention-shy outside of work!

Oh well. Roll on next year... in the meantime, it's time for another slice of cake.

The quarter century

How I Spent My Birthday Weekend, In No Particular Order:

- Had dinner at what used to be Blakes and is now the Dylan with Oran. Delicious food ("poncey food", says Oran) and some very tasty white wine
- Had my first outdoor rosé of the year, and enjoyed it thoroughly so had lots and lots more
- Pieced together quite a few more memories of Queen's day
- Shopped, and shopped and shopped and shopped some more and still didn't get the final component of Oran's present :(
- Proofread Susan's music thesis. My sister, she is brainy
- Was entertained by the world's coolest grandparents at Buena Vista Social Club on Saturday night. Some of them had trouble walking on and off stage, but boy can they still perform
- Saw Mission Impossible III, which marked the first time I've ever fallen asleep at the cinema. Yes, it's that bad
- Got up early yesterday morning to make triple chocolate brownies (they tasted fabulous but making them hurts my arteries. So much sugar/butter/chocolate!)
- Had birthday cake and birthday steak at a barbecue yesterday afternoon
- Got extremely sunburned at same barbecue... who knew early May sun could be so strong?
- Played with new toy (portable Creative speaker dock thing for my ipod, courtesy of Oran, I'm in love)
- Turned 25! Aah!

Signs it's been a good weekend

- Every photo your mates upload to Flickr is enlightening, e.g. "I didn't know he fell asleep in the bath!" or "there were four of us in that hammock?"

- You're still finding empty Flugel bottles in your jacket pocket

- You're analysing the minutiae of last Saturday rather than counting down the minutes to this one

- You've been so busy reminiscing you've still not bought your boyfriend a birthday present and now it's tomorrow, which means he ain't getting one until the evening

(okay, that last one has less to do with the weekend and more to do with the week that's followed and my general crapness... sorry Oran!)

All oranged out

"Today is not about dressing up and looking pretty, it's about wearing orange and getting drunk." - Andrew



In spite of the colder than usual weather, yesterday turned out to be the best Queen's day I've had here. We wore orange, we wandered, we drank beer, we ate street food, we spent four hours at a free mini-festival outside Paradiso, and we rounded the evening off in a hammock at Sarah's fabulously orange apartment. All in all, good Queen's day fun. Oh, and I abseiled across a canal:



That's me, hanging from a wire high over the Reguliersgracht. A bunch of mountain-climbing and abseiling enthusiasts decided to run a wire from the attic of a student house on one side of the canal to a big tree on the other. We spent about ten minutes watching people zoom across and I figured it didn't look so scary. So I paid my three euro, climbed six flights of extremely steep and narrow stairs, and jumped out an attic window. I was in flight for a total of about ten seconds but it was great fun. And for the record, I didn't scream once.

This being the Netherlands, we don't get tomorrow off in lieu of the holiday falling on a weekend. So it's back to work tomorrow, although safe to say nationwide productivity will be taking a big nosedive.

Happy birthday dear Queenie...

It's been a quiet week around here, not a lot going on and a shameful lack of mini-marathon training to report. All my energy is being directed towards planning for this Saturday, when the population of Amsterdam is set to triple for 24 hours and everyone will dress in orange and sell all their junk on the streets while downing massive volumes of Heineken.

The occasion? Like the UK, the Netherlands marks its queen's birthday twice. Her actual birthday is sometime in December, but it's officially marked on 30th April - otherwise known as Koninginnedag or Queen's Day - every year (although the 30th falls on a Sunday this year so the party has been moved to the day before). This is the only day of the year when goods can be sold on the streets without a licence, so everyone takes advantage - from the kids in the Vondelpark getting rid of their old toys to the enterprising Brazilians on the Prinsengracht serving home-made (and extremely potent) caipirinhas. Add to this street performers on every corner and boats of every shape and size from canal wall to canal wall, and you end up with one massive, clamouring, clangorous, crazy day.

This year marks my third Q-day in Amsterdam and I've been like a kid before Christmas all week, I'm so excited. I'm skiving off work early this evening (sh!) to get the final few bits and pieces of orange clothing I need (yes, this is the only day of the year when my clothes and hair will match). The party starts in earnest tomorrow evening (Queen's night) on Nieuwmarkt, where we will attempt to curb our drinking somewhat in advance of an early start on Saturday. Our route for the day may or may not end up looking like this:



The general plan is to see more local stuff this year, around the Albert Cuypstraat and Utrechtsestraat. I'm guessing there'll be the obligatory ramble along Prinsengracht to gawk at the party boats, and we'll have to check out the Drag Queen Olympics on Westermarkt. After that it's anyone's guess, but we may end up on a certain tulip-filled patio off the Prinsengracht...? Only time (and Heineken) will tell. Photos of orange, orange and more orange to follow!

Miserable & Mean

I am allowing myself to break my "no blogging about work" rule just this once for a good cause. New guy at the desk next to mine has been scarfing peanut M&Ms and fruit Mentos from giant cinema-sized bags all afternoon and hasn't offered me a single one! How rude! I don't think I'd mind as much if it weren't for the smell of the peanut M&Ms. If he leaves them out much longer I may have to reach over, grab the bag and upend it into my mouth. I need help...

Sweetened

Remember all my whining and moaning about the rubbish painters a couple of weeks back? Well, they finally finished on Good Friday but not before I'd lost the rag at them (which meant I had to revert to English, my pidgin Dutch only stretches as far as politeness with a touch of subservience). They left a mess on the living room floor and paint on the radiators but we were shut of them so didn't mind much. I'd almost forgotten about the whole sorry saga until our landlord's daughter popped in unexpectedly yesterday evening. She handed Oran a bottle bag and an envelope and apologised for the mayhem. The bottle bag contained some good champagne and the envelope (with another apology scrawled on the front) had €100 in it! I could be really cynical about the whole thing, but I'd rather think that maybe people aren't so crabby/stingy/inconsiderate after all. Unless they're trying to cajole us into extending our lease...

Corollary

Mini heatwave or no, it is starting to warm up here on the whole. And for anyone in Amsterdam who lives even remotely close to any of the city's many bodies of water (i.e. 99% of the population) this can only mean one thing: the mozzies are back.

I hadn't expected them for another week or so but was rudely awakened at 3.30 this morning by the familiar whiny buzzy noise round my head. I drowsily pulled the mosquito net around our bed and went straight back to sleep. Cue another wakeup call an hour later - not by the buzzing this time but by an extremely itchy sensation on my right arm. Bite number one from the mozzie now trapped inside the net. I managed to smoosh him (but not without waking Oran) and again, back to sleep. There were birds singing outside our window when I was woken again, by mozzie number two. This one had been feasting on any bits of exposed flesh he could find for quite a while and killing him was a rather messy affair. Final bite count: six for me (left cheek, left middle finger, left wrist, left elbow, right arm x 2), one for Oran. My pale freckled skin must be highly attractive to the little gits. I'll be going on another killing spree tonight before bedtime, for sure. Eugh.

Here comes the sun

The BBC weather forecast for this weekend:










They'd better not be having a laugh. Come on sun, baby needs a new pair of freckles...

Run, run, as fast as you can

I've just signed up for this year's Dublin mini-marathon and am already starting to tremble in my AirMax. I've never actually run 10k before; I can manage about 6k right now without passing out, albeit on the treadmill, which is much easier than on tarmac. When I originally thought about doing the race, I reckoned I could manage it in less than an hour. A combination of laziness and a recurring back problem has set my training back somewhat, though, and now I think I'll be lucky if I can finish in one piece.

How and ever, there's nothing like a challenge, and I have the added motivation of hopefully raising a few euro for the Gary Kelly Cancer Support Centre in Drogheda (go on the town). Training proper starts this week...

I heart Jason Donovan

We've had a Playstation 2 for about two years now, and up until about two months ago I showed very little interest in the thing. This is chiefly because I'm rubbish at everything except cart racing games and my thumbs hurt like hell after about ten minutes of Crash Nitro Kart. Now we're the proud owners of Buzz: The Music Quiz and Buzz: The Big Quiz and I've finally found my PS2 calling, as well as an outlet for my freakish useless-information memory. Both quizzes are hosted by a hilariously camp Jason Donovan, far more attractive now in cartoon form than in real life! Throw in a bunch of mates and a couple of bottles of wine and it's the perfect night in:

Tulips near Amsterdam

It's still too cold for allofthetulips, but we managed to see a few yesterday:




Tomorrow: Easter Sunday brunch and possibly my body weight in chocolate mini eggs. Monday: cocoa hangover and pub quiz, in that order. I love five day weekends.

Pretty stupid for a (supposedly) smart girl

Jennifer & I put in some quality time on the Kalverstraat this afternoon, visiting three of its five H&Ms among other things. Midway through browsing in one shop I noticed my bag felt lighter than it had and on rummaging through it, discovered our camera was gone. I spent the next half hour panicking and the half hour after that retracing our steps back up the street, checking every shop we'd been in to see if they'd found a camera. Alas and alack, they hadn't and I wearily trudged onto the tram home feeling very sorry for myself. Our camera might have been a heap of junk but it worked... and contained a memory card full of photos.

You can imagine my surprise/shock/doubt of own intellect when I walked in our door just now to find the damn thing sitting on our dining table. I must've taken it out when we came back earlier in the day to drop off our first batch of purchases.

Not the cleverest I've ever felt. But at least I have something to photograph all the tulips with tomorrow.

Forty shades of grey

Eugh. What a horrible day. I got a lift to the tram with a colleague this evening - a welcome respite from the horizontal rain - and the thermometer in his car read five degrees. Five bloody degrees! I could see my breath as I stepped out the front door this morning.

In other non-weather-related news, the aforementioned shyster painters continue to make a ham job of the windows in our building. They're currently working at a rate of about 1.2 windows per day, so I reckon we have at least another week of scaffolding out front (see above). They were in our kitchen yesterday morning at 8.30 - ironing work clothes in pyjamas mere inches from two boilersuited fiftysomethings was not the best way to kick off my week. I'm hoping they finish up on our floor tomorrow, if only to spare my sister from having to suffer a similar fate - she arrives tomorrow evening and will be sleeping on the three star futon in our living room.

I've taken Thursday off to play hostess which gives me a mammoth five day weekend (yay Easter!). We're planning to visit the Keukenhof gardens on Friday, where there'll hopefully be a little less grey and a little more of this (taken there last year):


I won't hold my (freezing) breath.

Shiver me timbers

I cannot seem to get warm at all today. I've had that deep down cold feeling since getting out of bed this morning that no amount of hot green tea or layers of clothing or huge bear hugs can shift. I can't imagine cycling to and from work in a chilly force four headwind helped much - it's still an unseasonable 8/9 degrees here but feels more like 5 with wind chill, and cycling in conditions like this leaves one both freezing and sweaty. I can't believe it's April 6th and I'm still wearing gloves...

So much for a warm and cosy apartment, too - the damned useless painters our landlord has hired left the windows open all day so it's still arctic in here. I think flannel pyjamas + socks + duvet + fleecy throw may be the only solution...

Detox, day ten

So, ten days in. Here's how it's been:

- days to go: seven (I've decided to extend!)
- times caved: two (apple pie last Thursday + a handful of chocolate M&Ms at the cinema on Sunday)
- litres of water consumed: about 35 so far, I'm guessing
- punnets of berries eaten: four
- creativity levels with various forms of non-dressed salad: vastly improved
- opinion of tuna: oh tuna, how I love thee, all is forgiven. Your friends the sardines are pretty tasty too.
- cravings for red meat/pasta/bread: surprisingly, non-existent
- smugness at a hangover-free weekend: still gloating, and it's Wednesday!
- gym sessions: one, dammit (I can thank my third lumbar vertebra for that)
- energy levels: much higher than previously, even with copious amounts of caffeine factored in
- kilos lost: three (that's 6.6 pounds to ye imperially-minded)
- likelihood that I'll stay on some form of regime for quite some time to come: growing
- number of biertjes it will take to get me drunk when I start drinking again on April 27th: right now I'm guessing six, but am taking bets...

Pub quiz teasers

Here are three questions we didn't get right tonight. Any takers? (no Google cheating!)

1. In what country was Bruce Willis born?
2. Which is the only country to cross both the equator and the tropic of Capricorn?
3. Which European city has the greatest length of canals?

If we'd gotten some or all of the above (plus Paul Anka, Bryan Ferry and John Denver as artists in the music round), we would've had a top three finish. Mind you, we say this every week and for every "maybe" answer we don't put down, we generally gain points back through sheer flukes. As it was we came fifth - not bad considering the horrible start we had.

For next week, I am swotting up on obscure capital cities. Armenia? Chad? Kiribati? I'll have 'em all sussed. Maybe.

London calling at the top of the dial

I've spent a large part of this weekend holed up in Paradiso listening to bands most people have never heard of. The occasion? A bi-annual mini-festival dubbed London Calling which showcases the best of new British (and lately Irish and US) musical talent. I managed to catch twelve bands in total between Friday and Saturday night. Not bad for €20. Some of the bands were quite samey, but here's a run down of the ones I can still remember (and I can't even use alcohol as an excuse for my patchy memory...):

Bromheads Jacket. We caught the end of their set first thing on Friday night. Musically speaking, they're a cross between the Libertines and the Streets and I mean that in an only-okay way. Quite an entertaining set though as the lead singer was very obviously under the influence of Amsterdam's finest and at one point stage dove while still holding his guitar. He managed to smash both guitar and head, but continued playing with just bass and drums (and a trickle of blood making its way down his nose) until an intrepid roadie appeared with a new guitar. Rock and roll.

My Latest Novel. In four words: shouty orchestral folk pop. They reminded me of the Frames and the Arcade Fire. A bit too acoustic and unconventional for the very young and very mainstream indie rock crowd though, and didn't go over too well. I got chatting to a couple of them later on and they were very lovely, very wee and very Scottish. Aw.

The Futureheads. These guys were in a different class to every other band we saw on Friday. They've just come off a US tour supporting the Foo Fighters and are obviously still coasting on the adrenaline. They were amazingly polished and confident and their songs sound even better live. Total show stealers.

First up on Saturday were The Long Blondes. Currently milking the tag of "best unsigned band in Britain" for all it's worth (at least to my cynical mind). Their lead singer and Alex Kapranos from Franz Ferdinand need to get together and start having gorgeous indie babies now.

Howling Bells. Another band with a pretty frontwoman! Hurrah! Very bluesy, very unusual, and very attractive. Think they eventually won the crowd over.

The Kooks. By far the most disappointing band over the two nights. I really like their album but the lead singer was surly and completely uncharismatic, and their set was pretty messy. So much so that Sarah and I spent most of it pointing and giggling at a girl on the opposite balcony who was dancing rather inappropriately (read filthily) to every song. And she knew all the words! I was karmically rewarded for my meanness later on in the evening when she came all the way round to where I was sitting just to ask me if there were any more bands on. Caught rapid.

Now where was I? Oh yes. Mystery Jets. Wacky and quite wonderful. Their frontman plays the computer case and the steel pipe, and his dad is in the band (and very popular with the sixteen year olds in the front row). The already overactive crowd surfers in the pit were almost fighting for a go by the end of their set... then the drummer and bassist both decided to dive in. I think I'll be buying their album, if only to remind me of the live show.

Last but not least were The Sunshine Underground at 2am, by which time 99% of the crowd were completely ossified and I was feeling quite serene. The organisers seem to save the graveyard slot for a completely unknown band they think are going to do well (The Infadels played last time round) and they hit the nail on the head with these boys. Catchy dancey rock and lots of cowbell. What's not to love?

The next London Calling event is scheduled for November, by which time I'm guessing three or four of these bands will have made it big (for however long), one will have spontaneously combusted, and the rest will still be coasting along under the radar. Only time will tell...

A lesson in salesmanship

I popped into our local Apple dealer (ooh, that sounds dirty) earlier this evening in search of a new pair of earbuds for my iPod. Mine finally gave out about a week ago after almost a year of life. I'd been using my boring old black Sony earbuds since and was, sadly enough, missing the uniformity and recognition that came with the white earbuds. They're everywhere I turn these days and are almost like a badge, a secret symbol indicating that yes, I too am progressive and cool. (I am aware of how sad and school-cliquish this all sounds, but there's been so much written about the iPod as an identity technology... I could go on, but I won't.)

Anyway, back to the Apple shop. I went in fully determined to regain my white-earbud-denotes-iPod-owner status and sure enough, they had earbuds in stock (two general department stores I'd tried in town were all out). So my friendly sales assistant pulls them out from under the counter...

Him: "Look, I know they look cool and everything, but I really don't want to sell you these."
Me: "?!"
Him: "See, they're crap. They break easily and the sound quality is terrible. Plus, they're €39.99."
Me: "Oh...kay..."
Him (reaching behind counter): "See these Sennheisers? They're way better, more reliable and they're only ten euro. I know they're ugly... but you can't go wrong."
Me (still slightly baffled, isn't this an Apple shop?): "Yeah, fair point. I'll take them."

So now I'm the proud-ish owner of a slightly less pretty pair of blue and grey headphones, and more importantly €30 better off. My chances of being mugged for my iPod have probably dropped significantly too - blue and grey headphones must equal rubbish mp3 player, right?

(edit to add that I've just flipped through about ten songs on iPod with new headphones in and ohmygoodness there is no comparison in terms of sound quality. It's like my ears have popped after a long flight and I can hear properly again. Yay Sennheiser.)

On (and off) the wagon

It's all about the food here this week. After consuming grand quantities of oily meaty food and wine in Spain, and generally just overdoing it in the past month or so, I made the decision to start a two-week detox regime on Monday morning.

So: caffeine, booze, spices, dairy, flour, wheat, red meat except lamb, white rice, sugar and have I mentioned the booze? are all off the menu. This leaves tasty foods like rice milk, soy milk, rice crackers, soy yogurt, brown rice (are you seeing a pattern emerge here?), lots of fruit and vegetables, white meat, fish, dried fruits, pulses and a whole lotta water. Sample daily menu: rice milk and fruit for breakfast, home made carrot & coriander soup and rice cakes for lunch, small fruity/nutty snacks, and pan fried chicken and a massive pile of green veg for dinner. Plus about three litres of H2O.

The net effect so far (at least until half an hour ago when I caved and had a slice of a colleague's birthday cake) has been a loss of poundage, a surge of energy, and, less desirably, a frequent need to pee. I'm not sure how long I'll last on the full regime, but I'm definitely feeling the benefits of a less carb-heavy diet. I wasn't that unhealthy to begin with, but I'd given up resisting any and every foodie temptation that came my way.

Cutting out the booze also means no hangovers, which means no need to spend one's entire day in the foetal position on the sofa with one hand on the remote and the other alternating between a giant bag of tomato ketchup Lay's and our entire stash of chocolate mini eggs. Now, what to do with those regained hours...?

Mucho bueno

We're back from our wee trip to Girona, tired, full and a little sunburned. Lots of great food and wine, not too much shopping, and some really beautiful old streets and buildings. I'd write more, but the clocks went forward last night and I'm starting to snooze at my keyboard...

Dos riojas, por favor

We are headed to northern Spain early tomorrow, via the bright lights of Eindhoven (bleh, Ryanair), for four days of rioja, jamon, olivas, chorizo and possibly more cheap Pull & Bear and Zara than I or my little wheelie suitcase can handle. Of course I haven't actually packed a thing yet - blogging and refreshing my iPod are far more pressing tasks. I'm also suffering from serious packing indecision as it's set to be 22 degrees all weekend and my pallid knees are trembling at the prospect. Cropped trousers! T-shirts! Possible exposure of toes! It's all too much for a girl to take in.

We're back on Sunday, hopefully with photos and a tale or two...

The wearing of the green

My experiences of St. Patrick's day have been defined by different things over the years. As a kid, everything was huge and exciting and I got to wear the St. Patrick's day badge my aunt had made me and watch our home town's parade. In my teens, I spent a couple of years drumming in the parade, which was far more fun but a lot more tiring, and my home-made badge had been replaced by ten-hole docs and a home-made tie-dyed t-shirt. The college years brought with them the Dublin parade, and all the added extras the city had to offer - firework displays, ceilidhe on St. Stephen's Green, rollercoaster rides at the Custom House - we took it all in.

By the time I left Ireland, the whole thing had escalated to a week-long festival culminating in a massive display of public drunkenness on the day itself. I took full advantage of the day off work but steered clear of the city centre. Most people I speak to back home are now doing the same.

Now, as an expat, I'm finding that I want to do something to mark the occasion, but the Irish pubs here are always packed and blaring the diddly-aye music for all they're worth. So this year, I went shopping for green party decorations and decked out our local as an Irish pub for the night. Oran supplied the music, Gabri looked after the shooters and we settled in for a night of sort-of seasonal fun. Not quite as authentic as home, but nowhere near as tacky.

Post-gym grumbles, part one of many, I'm sure

Legs killing me. Brain fried. So this will have to suffice - a list, in no particular order, of Gym Personality Types:

1. The pretty girls. You know who you are. You wear colour co-ordinated gym gear, the more lycra the better. You have an impossibly sleek and shiny ponytail. You put on makeup in the changing rooms before your workout. Men have been known to drop 25kg weights on their feet as you bounce past. We hate you, but secretly we wouldn't mind being you. Just for a day.

2. The lurkers. You sneak up behind me as I'm about to set up on a weights machine and maintain that "you were there first". I don't think so, lady... but you're about five inches taller than me and you could probably take me in a fight, so I'll let you go.

3. The yoga-ers. You lot are impossibly toned and bendy and you don't sweat and you look so relaxed as you float by on your way out of class. Are you on drugs, or is it really that life-altering? Please do enlighten me.

4. The bodybuilders. Gentlemen. Please note that while lifting 25kg weights does make you a hard man, to a degree, it won't have any lasting effects if you maintain the "one rep, then break for five minutes to admire self close up in mirror" routine you've got going on now.

5. The power platers. Many of you also fit into category 1. Do you really think that standing on a vibrating surface for 20 minutes at a time, while contorting yourself into position after position, will make you fitter? If you ain't sweating, it ain't working.

6. The dressing room naturists. I've encountered many, many more of you here in Amsterdam than anywhere else in the world. I'm really very pleased that you're so happy with your body, but after four laps of the changing rooms a la nip while chatting on the phone, I think we've all seen enough, don't you?

(For the record, I fall into the "baggy t-shirt, hair scrape back, red sweaty face, headphones in" category. The category 1-ers generally look at me like I've got the plague... but whatever, I'm there for the calorie burn. And the abs... someday the abs.)

Shamrock fever

Plans for St. Patrick's Day are already in train here. My mum got us started in style with this little package of goodness, which arrived on Friday night. There were two packets of buffalo Hunky Dorys included but we fell on them like savages the second I opened the box!

Sadly, the day itself isn't a public holiday here but we're planning to get the evening started in style early enough. Our current plan is to hijack our friendly local and deck it out as an Irish pub for the night, complete with diddly-aye and rebel rouser music. No green beer though, but I'm sure Gab the barman will come up with some seasonal shooter or other to get us all in the mood!

It's funny how I've grown to enjoy St. Patrick's Day more since I've left Ireland. It held some charm for me while I was still at college, but by the time I was leaving for Scotland it was just another day off, and an annoying, traffic-diverted, public-brawling, shops-shut one at that. Here we get most of the celebrations but none of the rowdiness; plus we get to introduce our international friends to our many and varied customs and traditions on this most Irish of days. I'll have them all playing The Dawning Of The Day on that tin whistle by the end of the night, no doubt.

These shoes were made for running

Check this out:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZvsWD_JhMPg&search=glamour%20stiletto%20run

(can't get it to embed, grr).

Tens of women in impossibly high heels took to the PC Hooftstraat here yesterday in Dutch Glamour's Stiletto Run. I had seen an ad for this a couple of weeks ago and was full sure it was a joke, but no, they pegged it the length of the street in their Jimmy Choos etc. for the chance to win €10,000. A 20-year-old athlete from Egmond won - I bet the money just about covers the medical expenses from the damage she's done to her ankles. Most of the time I can barely walk in heels, let alone run in them!

Not the magic number

Oran and I finally ate at Fifteen last night. I say finally because we've been sort of kind of half making plans to eat there since it opened over a year ago. By our standards of procrastination this isn't the longest finger we've ever put something on - we have yet to buy picture wire to hang the three Picasso prints Oran bought me for Christmas 2003.

Anyway. Fifteen Amsterdam is run by two Dutch guys but operates on the same principle as the original - the number fifteen refers to the size of the group of trainee chefs they bring in each year, usually from disadvantaged areas. Generally they have no knowledge of food or cooking, and the aim of the programme is to train them up to Jamie Oliver restaurant standard in less than a year. The first groups of trainees in both London and Amsterdam had cameras in their faces for the Jamie's Kitchen series; now it's business as usual.

While I'm all in favour of the concept and probably a tiny bit envious of the cooking experience these kids are getting, I'm not sure it works at all in practice. The Amsterdam restaurant tries to place itself in the "hip Amsterdam" category - this is reflected in both the decor and the prices - but the food we ate last night was nowhere near the standard I'd have expected.

The restaurant operates on a set menu basis - ostensibly to broaden the trainees' repertoire without putting them under too much pressure - so the only course where we had a choice was the primi piatti. First up, though, was an extremely bland salad of adichio (sp? it's a type of endive), marinated artichoke and something billed as salted cod which was rubbery and completely tasteless. So far, so underwhelming. At this point we were starving and washing the whole thing down with some excellent Seghesio zinfandel and grazing on the bread and olives we'd also been given (former okay, latter kinda fishy), so we weren't too put out.

Next stop the primi, where I'd opted for the lemon cream tagliatelle and Oran went for the red wine and pancetta risotto. The tagliatelle was surprisingly good - tasty fresh pasta and they didn't skimp on the lemon - but the risotto was horribly presented, overcooked, overcheesed and most of the tiny specks of pancetta (bilingual bacon pun!) we found buried in it were burned to a crisp.

The single biggest disappointment of the night was our main course. It had been billed as "rack of lamb with Sicilian tomatoes, broccoli and black olives" but what we were actually served were random bits of lamb meat, off the bone and completely lacking in flavour. There wasn't a single black olive on my plate, and the two or three lumps of tomato I had were barely warmed through. My broccoli wasn't so bad but Oran's had had the life and soul boiled out of it and tasted like it had been lying around for an hour or so before being served.

I think we would have made more noise about the main course had it not been for the dessert - a nut tart with vanilla risotto ice-cream. Both were delicious and proved that simple food works. I'm not sure how long this group of trainees have been on the job, but there's definite potential there if they're not forced to run before they can walk.

I'm probably coming off like a complete gastro-snob at this point. I'm not - I'll be the first to admit that I'm an average cook. The difference is that I know my limits and Fifteen appear to have thrown theirs out the window. Either they rebrand (and reprice) themselves as a training restaurant, or they increase the numbers of fully qualified staff in their kitchen. I give them another year.

Bubbles burst

Dammit. Fifth at pub quiz! Questions we got wrong (brainy points for anyone who gets these sans Google):

- How many wheels on a Concorde?
- Who founded the Red Cross?
- What year was Michelangelo born in? (this one scored a free round of drinks)
- Which is the first country to have hosted the soccer World Cup twice?
- What Asian politician received the Nobel Peace Prize in 2000?

Questions I'm proud we answered correctly:

- Who was the first actor to be featured on the cover of Time? (Charlie Chaplin)
- Which actor or actress has won the most Oscars? (Katherine Hepburn)
- Which two actors have directed themselves to directing and acting Oscars? (Laurence Olivier/Roberto Benigni)
- In which year did Microsoft release the first version of Windows? (1985)

Yeah, there's a pattern emerging here. We are a team of film geeks and geek geeks with comparatively little knowledge of the "useful" stuff (politics/history etc.) We did kick ass on the music round too though, for once! The obscure 1980s electropop tends to leave us stumped - thankfully this week was a mixture of Radiohead, Skunk Anansie, Boyzone and Texas. 8 out of 10!

Next week: hockey match. Oran and Andrew, you're on your own :)

Monday morning blues? Me?

Reasons to be cheerful, parts 1-3:

1. Hockey match this evening has been postponed due to a dusting of snow on the astro turf. This means a) no hypothermia and b) pub quiz!

2. The morning after the night before - lots of Oscar gossip and pictures (see here, here and here for your fill). I don't agree with Crash for Best Picture, but I'll save that rant for another time.

3. Leftover chocolate brownies from yesterday - triple chocolate (70%, milk, white) and pecan. Just the right level of decadence for 10.45 on a Monday morning.

(PS. Hi Tim, yes, it's me :) )

The only way is up, baaaaaaybeh

Tonight: pub quiz team in top three finish shocker. We were fifth two weeks ago, fourth last week and second at the halfway mark tonight. We somehow managed to keep our composure, despite thinking Liza Minnelli starred in Funny Girl and drawing a complete blank on a plinky planky instrumental piece in the music round which turned out to be Tubular Bells (doh!). We finished in third, 3.5 points behind the winners and fifteen euro richer. Can we keep it together for a top two finish next Monday? Stay tuned...

thwack

Today I have managed to damage five different body parts in four separate attacks of the clumsy. In chronological order:

1. Middle knuckle, left hand off the edge of an open (glass) door in the office today. The bruise is currently eggshell blue with a lovely maroon centre.
2. Left shin off the edge of a shredding bin (still at work). This wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't already got a cut in the same spot from an altercation with a (stationary) bike late last week.
3. Left thumb and left big toe in an inexplicable cycling snafu involving a baking tray and a force 4 headwind en route home. Really - don't ask.
4. Left hip off the edge of our kitchen counter, so excited was I to rush into the living room with my dinner.

I've never been the most graceful of people - four broken bones (right wrist x 2, left wrist, left collarbone) as a child, plus countless scars from countless falls, will attest to that. I had rather hoped I'd grown out of this scale of self-damage though. At least sober! Perhaps I should start padding sharp surfaces and wearing cushioned clothing, like the Glass Man in Amelie...

The good, the bad and the downright ridiculous

It's been said that my taste in all things audiovisual is "eclectic" (read: bleedin' mental). I can sit still at a symphony or mosh with the best of them, I appreciate Jane Austen and Kazuo Ishiguro equally, and I can see the value in chick flicks, action flicks, arty flicks and the ones with the subtitles. When it comes to TV, though, I'm firmly at the soapy end of the scale in terms of my viewing preferences. Although I do appreciate "good" comedy like Scrubs and Seinfeld and The Office (UK version please) and have occasionally been known to watch Panorama, Newsnight and the Culture Show, truth be told, my ideal evening in front of the goggle box would involve one or all of the following:

1. The OC. I am a relatively late convert to the OC bandwagon but am now furiously making up for lost time. I'd never really gotten into it here due to the vagaries of Dutch TV scheduling, but a few all-day marathons on E4 at home over Christmas got me well and truly hooked. And oh, joy of joys, I returned here in January to find it on not one, but two channels - one showing series 1 every night at 6.30 (perfect gym viewing!) and another showing the most recent episodes (further ahead than home!) on Sunday afternoons. I am now engrossed in the implausibly glamorous and verbose lives of Seth, Summer, Ryan et al. And yes, Marissa bugs the hell out of me too.

2. Gilmore Girls. I have only Dutch TV scheduling to blame for this one. It's on every Tuesday at 8.30 and my evening now completely revolves around it - I have a set ritual involving a large pot of tea, stretchy sweat pants, an oversized hoodie, big fluffy socks and a bar of Albert Heijn chocolate (I've said this before and I'll say it again... it's DELICIOUS). I have also had a viewing companion of late in the form of Oran, who will never openly admit that he likes watching, but still giggles every time Michel and Kirk are on screen. Plus, he has the hots for Lorelai. We are now four episodes into season six but I am ashamed to admit that I've already seen up to episode ten thanks to BitTorrent. Does anyone else wish Luke and Lorelai would just grow the hell up?

3. Desperate Housewives. This was must-see TV for me when it started here (Tuesday evening GG and DH double whammy!) but it was starting to wear on me a teeny tiny bit by the time it was mysteriously pulled from Net5's schedule. That said, I'll be glued to it again whenever it returns, if only to find out if Susan Mayer ever cops on.

4. Grey's Anatomy. This may be slightly less soapy and more highbrow than the previous three shows, but it's on after GG now instead of DH so of course, I've become hooked. I'm far more interested in the Meredith/McDreamy storyline than any of the medical gunk, and so far, so engrossing, although Izzie is fast becoming my favourite character.

5. Any Australian soap opera (Neighbours/Home & Away). These are more early evening viewing and I only have my mother and sisters to blame for my continuing recreational use of both. I rarely watch full episodes of either, and hadn't seen the latter for ages until Christmas, but I can always pick up on exactly what's going on after about thirty seconds. Pretty much an essential requirement for any good soap, non?

I'm pretty sure that Dutch TV has largely been to blame for my stunted televisual growth. But given that I spent hours on end over Christmas flicking through the 567824 music channels now on Sky, I'm thinking it could be so much worse...

argh

One million million gold stars and a pint for anyone who can explain the new (and allegedly improved) Dutch healthcare arrangements to me in plain English. I'm at the end of my tether... the Dutch are famed for paperpushing and pointless bureaucracy but this is really taking the cake. It must be said, though, that I probably wouldn't be nearly as peeved about the whole thing had my premium not doubled from December to January... and all this after having many conversations extolling the virtues of the system here to many VHI-saddled friends and family members at Christmas. Damn you, CZ!

The salty and the sweet

In the two-and-a-bit years I've lived here, I've generally tried to use my (minimal) Dutch where possible. Generally, this is limited to restaurants, bars, shops and the cinema as I'm still incapable of stringing a sentence together that doesn't start with "mag ik" (may I) or "Ik wil graag" (I would like).* My feeble attempts at getting my gullet round the guttural "cccch" and "gggggh" sounds that come up in every second word have improved of late, and, shock horror, I'm now finding that most people respond to me in Dutch rather than automatically switching over to English. I've been marvelling at this and was feeling rather proud of myself until last night.

Katie, Anika and I went to see The Constant Gardener at Tuschinski (more on that later). I arrived a little late and popped into the food queue behind them. Both of them ordered in English; I decided to give some cccch-ing and gggggh-ing a try. I ordered an iced tea and a small popcorn and all was well until I sat down in the cinema and started munching away as the trailers rolled. My tastebuds immediately recoiled in horror at - wait for it - the SWEET POPCORN they had just been assaulted with.

How could this have happened, you ask? Well, it's quite simple really. The Dutch words for "sweet"and "salty" respectively are "zoet" (zoot) and "zout" (zowt). I *thought* I'd asked for zout, and my outwardly friendly (but inwardly groaning at yet another stupid expat practising her Dutch) server reconfirmed this to me before merrily filling up my carton. I have yet to decide whether she really deciphered my garbling as "zoet" or if she gave me the sweet stuff to teach me a (Dutch) lesson.

The movie? Visually stunning, brilliantly acted, but didn't grab me in quite the way I'd hoped. As for the popcorn? After the first few mouthfuls, it really wasn't all that bad.

* Readers should note that I've been too lazy to get up off my arse and actually take Dutch lessons; education via the subtitles on Gilmore Girls doesn't really count for much.