Because I still can

Hollandse nieuwe, patatje met, berenklauw and kibbeling. Four dutch 'dishes' in two days. All of a sudden I fancied dutch food. Won't touch the jenever though. Let's not overdo things.

Getting there

The movers were here yesterday, 3,5 hours, or 36 boxes and a bike later, they left. Task two: clear the living room, for the laminate man to come today. Mission accomplished. A glass of verdelho in my hand, laptop on my...right, lap, and the new floor to admire. Fake oak. Actually really like it. My bathroom is empty but for the stuff I now use, and my bedroom is empty but for the stuff I will bring. Main worries: the living room and spare bedroom. I estimate another 3 trips to the paperbin and 10 to the basement. Yuk. Fed up. Had Enough.

But this wasnt't going to be a whinge-blog (am not in pommyland yet after all!). This was to be a blog about my new home. Temp home. Originally, I thought I'd like to live in London's docklands, assuming they'd be similar to the Ams docklands. Everyone who knows both me and London told me not to. So I won't. But....to see for myself, my serviced apartment for the first two weeks of my stay happens to be in the docklands. On Isle of Dogs to be precise. In the Ontario Tower, to be even preciser. A big fat huge tall residential tower of 32 floors. The wee corner on the 11th is mine for a fortnight. The pics tell me I have a nice view through the floor-to-ceiling walls from my bed. Exiting!!

Boxes boxes boxes

Crates with books that need to get to the basement (by themselves, please!). Boxes, bags full of old papers ready for the paper bin, dust everywhere and loads, and loads of stuff for the movers to collect tomorrow. Five meters of books, an amount of shoes and flipflops Imelda Marcos wouldn't be ashamed of, a load of booze, boxes full of kitchenware and clothes clothes clothes. When I moved to Sydney with only a backpack I was fine, yet the idea of shipping 8 cubic metres of 'home' is great. If only all the hard work was done.....

Anticipation

Seeing my very preggers friend Lynne. Wimbledon finals on Murray Mountain with Zoe. Big fat Sunday newspapers wíth the extras. Brick Lane. Marks and sparks underwear. Gloating about football. Pimms. No traffic jams (as in....no car). Borough Market. E.A.T. salads and sarnies. Shopping. Weddings to come home for which makes them extra special. No cat hairs (just kidding V&C!). Gloating about football. Owning an Oyster Card (bye bye strippenkaarten). Cricket at Lords. ITV and Sky Sports. Loads of new discoveries. The parks and the views. The markets. And had I mentioned gloating about football??

16 sleeps

16 sleeps before I move to London. 16 days of football, farewell drinks, partying with Emily and, minor detail, moving and emptying my apartment. 16 days of happiness, sadness, and everything in between. A two year expat contract means I am likely to move back to the Dam in 2010 (just in time for the World Cup, maybe). But for now: I am awfully exited and happy about making a new start in this massive, cosmopolitic city.