2010

Amsterdam canal in winter
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

I yelled at the tele, fists clenched, and shed a tear when Sven Kramer missed Gold due to a miscommunication with his coach. I felt even more sorry for Kemkers than I did for Kramer. For the WC final I bought an excruciatingly expensive ticket to the Dam. In complete silence I watched the last few minutes in Cafe Tapmarin. It took some time before my colleagues stopped commenting on De Jong's talent for karate. And the Ashes? Don't get me started.... Not a great year for sports, 2010.

Hours were spent on twitter and news websites, trying to keep up to date with the world of politics. British elections, followed by Dutch elections (and don't forget the Australian). A slightly trolleyed Simon Schama on the BBC, a massive applause for Femke Halsema on politiek24.nl. An unusual coalition cabinet here, an unusual minority cabinet in Holland. The Christian Democrats and UK Labour congresses I watched on Twitter and the BBC streaming, both from my bed in Langkawi, Malaysia. Fascinated by the changes in the political landscapes.

Alexander (Lee) McQueens death shocked me. So young, so talented. Mulisch' death came as less of a surprise, especially after an overeager Dutch ceefax journo released the news way before it was meant to be shared with the world. Hanses Dijkstal and Van Mierlo, Miep Gies, Jan Blokker, Leslie Nielsen. The world lost a lot of special people.

And then there were Wikileaks, the miners, The Engagement, the iPad. Things that dominated the news for part of 2010. And of course the ash cloud of the vulcano with the name I cannot pronounce. The fecker was responsible for me not seeing my bro for a whole year, as we were supposed to meet in Holland that week and only he made it. Haiti, Aung San Suu Kyi, bad and good news throughout the year.

When my LinkedIn travel stat told me I'd visited nine countries this year, I figured it must be a mistake. But it wasn't. I made about 17 trips in 2010, only 3 of which were for work. The joys of living in Britain, tickets are relatively cheap and choice is plenty. I visited friends in Vienna, Melbourne, Singapore and Barcelona. Made several trips to the Dam and discovered Malaysia.

Also, 2010 was the year I decided to return back to Holland in 2011, for at least 2 years. The picture at the top of this piece is to remind myself that Amsterdam isn't so bad. That said, it's been a difficult choice. If work weren't a factor, I'd stay here but as things are...the best job for me in the near future will be in the Dam.

And finally, I turned into a bit of a shopaholic this year. I buy less but better stuff and spend hours online scavenging for it on sites such as mywardrobe.com, netaporter.com and theoutnet.com. All of a sudden my wardrobe contains Vivienne Westwood, Nicole Farhi, Missoni, Jil Sander and Marc Jacobs. The northener in me makes sure to buy these things in the sale, but still...I have definitely been Londified.

But the most important? 2010 was another year without deaths and illnesses, with the exception of one of my bosses. He has leukemia and is constantly in my mind. It's a blessing to not have lost anyone dear, to be healthy and know that the people that matter most are too. And that made 2010 a great year. No trips or handbags could ever compensate for that.

Winter wonderland

Wandsworth Common
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

It was snowing so hard I didn't fancy leaving the house. Not owning a winter hat type thing didn't help either. But as my friend Zoe had booked us a table at Chez Bruce, I decided to brave it, looking slightly ridiculous in nice clothes and a Cricket Australia sun hat to cover my hair. But I needn't have worried. It may have been cold and slippery, but man, was it great to be outside! Massive snowmen in Clapham Common, a white and quiet Wandsworth Common, everything looked ever so pretty.

And Chez Bruce? Fantastic. We both ordered pork belly as our main, with some veg and the best caramelised onion I've ever had. The cheese board for desert nearly killed me (it's hours later and I am still full), but it was delicious. What a perfect way to spend a cold December Saturday arvo.

Naughty

The other day, one of the directors at work called me naughty, and my friend Viv nice. It made me giggle, but only later I realised how appropriate that comment is with regards to my new perfume. It's Vivienne Westwood's Naughty Alice. I bought it in York last month, as a birthday pressie either from my folks or from myself (jury still out). Today I wore it (to go with my Vivienne Westwood pumps and t-shirt). It's sexy and musky and floral all in one. Ylang ylang, violets and black roses. The packaging caught my eye in the shop, and the smell is equally beautiful. When they threw in a free bottle of body lotion, I was sold.

Edinburgh

4pm shot
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

The Brits don't deal with snow very well. And that is an understatement. Fair enough, at some point there was so much of it that I can understand things went a bit pearshaped but seriously....even on day 1 the train network was a complete mess. It took colleagues over 4 hours to commute home. Madness. I was lucky though. Tubes were pretty much running as normal, and when I showed up at the airport for my flight to Edinburgh on Friday, it was one of the few flights taking off from City airport. Without tea and coffee mind you, as the water supplies had frozen. Arctic circumstances in east London. I also managed to fly home as planned on Sunday, only for the snow to shut down Scotland again a few hours later.

So. Edinburgh. What a pretty city, especially in the snow. It was great to see my friend Lyndsay again, whom I hadn't seen since our farewell party in the Dam 2,5 years ago. Sometimes it doesn't matter how much time has passed, you just pick things up again. The snow did mean however, that I could only move slowly and had wet feet all the time. Wellies had pretty much sold out in the entire city. Other than that, it was a great trip. I wandered around for hours, stayed in Saturday evening and watched Strictly and read a book in my comfy B&B room. I like these weekends. It is not just about discovering new places, but the me-time is ever so nice. I could never be a hermit full time, but man, am I good at it occasionally!

Sleep deprived

We're only three days into the Ashes and I am already so sleep deprived it ain't funny. For many reasons I wish Oz was closer, and this bloody time difference is on top of the list at the moment. And this is only the Brissie test. Starts at midnight UK time. Sydders and Melbs are half an hour later. But man, do I love it.

Take Thursday night. I went to bed rather excited (and rather pissed, but that's a different matter) as our batting was only just underway. Waking up Friday morning to a 220/5 and a wicketless final session (and a sore head) meant I had a slight spring in my step, making my way to work. My English partner and other colleagues were clearly starting to get worried, which only added to my joy.

Come Friday night, I stayed awake on espresso and jelly beans. Close to 2am, when Australia were at 308/5 I couldn't possibly stay awake any longer. Waking up this morning, the first thing I did was to check the score on my Blackberry. 481/10. Bring it on. And now, I am again counting on espresso and jelly beans to keep me awake for another 2,5 hours or so. In 2014 I probably need to take 6 weeks unpaid leave and just go to Oz. For now, I am accepting the fact that I will look like a ghost on valium by early January. It's all worth it.

A weekend in York

River Foss
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

Knowing I have (much!) less than a year left in Old Blighty, I am determined to make the most of it. And that includes venturing out of London every now and then. Last weekend, friend Ilse and I boarded a northbound train, and were in York in two hours.

There are three distinct facts about York. 1. It's very pretty. 2. People speak funny. ;-) 3. Girls on Saturday night wear no clothes. Or hardly any. They do wear ridiculously high heels.

On 3: I don't quite get it. If you wear virtually no clothes, you will have to empty a Wetherspoon's supply of booze to stay warm in November. That doesn't quite match with the enormous heels tho, let alone on the cobbled streets. So this is a bit of a mystery to me.

Anyway. York was lovely. Pretty little streets with little shops. Nice food. Friendly people. Ilse and I both beeing foodies, we made sure to eat very well. Nineteen was a Yorkshire restaurant, with interesting dishes. Cosy and delish. The Blue Bicycle used to be a brothel, and came recommended by a work friend. Best resto in York apparently, which meant we could only get a lunch booking. So Saturday arvo was spent eating lovely food and sipping prosecco, cab sauv and tawny port. Dinner was a simple pasta while we watched the locals. Sunday lunch was afternoon tea at Betty's tearooms, including the obligatory Carpenters played by a pianist. It was lovely though in all its oldfashionedness (is that a word?).

Next UK trip: Edinburgh in two weeks time. Yeah!

Movember

It's that time of the year when more and more 'taches pop up around me. At work, quite a few men have started to grow a moustache. The reason? Movember. The month when men grow 'taches to support prostate cancer research. A bit like October is breast cancer awareness month for women. With one massive difference: men take the Mickey out of themselves by looking silly. For women, it's all about having fun and doing pink things in the name of breast cancer awareness. Every year, that annoys me more. I prefer the men's style. Hands down. A month of looking stupid, and reminding everyone who sees you of the importance of prostate cancer research. Bring on the mo's!

Busy bee

Working on a proposition for our Insurance clients, supporting two partners in bringing Finance practitioners across the globe together, working on a big proposal for Singapore (gotta love time differences....) and a two day conference in Zurich. That's been pretty much all I've been doing in the past two weeks, bar a few gym visits. So this weekend is all about not working. I nearly killed myself in the latin dance class in the gym tonight, watched Broken Embraces, and had a few glasses of vino. The weekend has officially begun, thank the lord!

Books

One of the best things about traveling by myself is being able to spend days reading without having to talk to someone. I must have gone through about 12 books on my last hols. Fair few detectives (Jonathan Kellerman, Faye Kellerman, Ian Rankin, Michael Connely, Janet Evanovich, Henning Mankell) and a couple of 'proper books'. And good ones at that.

First I read Three Cups of Tea, the remarkable story of American mountaineer Greg Mortenson, who after an failed attempt to climb K2, started building schools for girls in northern Pakistan (that's a massive shortcut - read the book for the full story!). The story is about friendship, about courage and about rural Pakistan. It's very touching, and incredibly fascinating. Without being an expert, I also strongly believe how educating kids in these schools will help balance the indoctrination of poor kids in many of the Saudi-funded madrassas. His second book is on my Amazon wish list, I cannot wait to read it.

Next there was The Family Way, recommended by a friend. I'd heard of Tony Parsons of course, but had never read his books. I really enjoyed this novel about three sisters and their struggles around having kids. Sister 1 can't conceive, sister 2 does not ever want to be a mom (or does she) and sister 3 ends up pregnant after some fun between the sheets with an random Australian. Impressive how a man puts himself in women's shoes so well. And with humour too. Again, some of his other books are on my wish list.

Purple Hibiscus is Nigerian Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's first novel. I read her second, Half of a Yellow Sun last year and loved it. I am glad I read than one first. Despite it being set in Nigeria's civil war, I found it less gruesome than Purple Hibiscus at times. That said, it is a fantastic debut. It tells the story of a 15 yo girl and her brother, who grow up in a wealthy, catholic Nigerian family. Their father is a religious fanatic and does the most awful things to them, emotionally and physically. In his eyes, he does them a favour punishing them for their sins as he helps them become good catholics. Her aunt and cousins show the reader another Nigeria. Working for the university, the aunt is struggling financially, but the happy household full of laughter is a world away from the one of the main character. Both come together and split again several times throughout the book. Read it for yourself. It's brilliant.

And I managed to save the best for last. The Lacuna is the first book I've read by Barbara Kingsolver. It's the story of a half Mexican, half American boy-grows-man who spends part of his teens and twenties with Frieda Kahlo, her painter husband, and the guests of their household, Trotsky being one of them. When he goes back to the US at some point, he becomes a very succesful novelist. Until his past catches up with him as J. Edgar Hoover's witch hunt for unamericanism gets him in trouble. The story slowly unfolds through the main character's notebooks and letters. The Lacuna is rich, colourful, and incredibly well written. Best book I've read in a while. Lucky I noticed it at Island Bookstore during a recent visit to Amsterdam!

And didn't I read anything rubbish? Oh yes. Number Ten, by Sue Townsend, a gift from a friend at my farewell party back in '08. The title refers to Downing Street. The Prime Minister is said to be too estranged from the people, and decides to travel the country, disguised as a woman. Worst book I read in ages. What a waste of time.

Home sweet home

Coming home is pretty much as nice as being on holiday. I am sat on the couch with the Indy, Times and a coffee, watching the cricket in the mean time. A very normal Saturday morning, and a very happy one at that.

My days at the beach were bliss. Though it poured during the night, the days were pretty much dry which allowed me to spend hours with a book on the deckchairs. Thanks to a lovely fella with a second hand book shop, I swapped my detectives 2 for 1 until I had nothing more to swap. The more literary books I read are now on my book shelves, where they belong. Before flying home I had a last day in KL. I stayed at the lovely Royale Chulan, who kindly upgraded me to a club room, which meant access to the club lounge but, more importantly, provided me with a balcony with view of the Twin Towers. Awesome. I pretty much spent my last day having a mani, facial and massage, browsing the luxury shops in the mall in between. Got my Chanel khaki rose nail polish that had sold out in Singapore, so all happy. That was pretty much the extend of my shopping too, which was good! A last hainan chicken rice, a last portion of sateh, and off to the airport I was. All tanned and chilled!

A special friend

After graduating in '98, I decided to go traveling in New Zealand for three months. Back then, a call home cost a guilder a minute, and internet cafes were nowhere near as common as they are now. Traveling solo, loads of people suggested I go see there second/third/fourth uncle, cousin, long lost sister and what have you. I ended up contacting relo's of my friend Elisabeth (and visiting them in Marlborough) as well as Brien. Brien was a funny contact. My nan's friend, a rotary member, had been host to a rotary chapter from New Zealand the year before, and Brien was part of that group. So basically, I dropped him a note saying I was the grand daughter of some rotary guy he'd met, and would he be keen for a coffee once I made it to the land of the great white cloud.

And this is what you get when you combine Irish (he was born on the Emerald Isle) and kiwi hospitality. Brien drove over an hour to the airport in Auckland to meet me, showed me around town, and dropped me off at a hostel he'd booked for me (in a house once owned by some queen). He gave me his number and told me to be in touch when I would make it to Hamilton. So I did, a while later. His wife and him wined and dined me, made me call my folks to tell them all was well, and gave me a bed for the night. Still, without really knowing me. Next day, Brien announced they were taking me to their bach (kiwi word for beach house) for a few days. We ate the best fish and chips on arrival, I had a kick ass bedroom (being used to 8 bed dorms that was a total luxury), and couldn't believe my luck. I vividly remember what the place looked liked. I felt so awefully welcome, and at the same time not a guest but a friend. Weeks later, after I'd traveled the South Island, we met again at the bach, shortly before I went back home to start a working life early '99.

So almost 12 years it's been, I realised when Brien emailed me today and told me they had bought a new house ('hint, hint'). We met for dinner when I lived in Sydney in '02, and had planned to meet again in Melbs last year, a trip they had to cancel because of illness of his wife. Twice a year, Brien sends me an email. Always him, never his wife. The email always includes jokes about Australians. And the emails always give me the warmest feeling inside. He's well over 70 I think, and lives as far away as possible, but I consider Brien to be a dear friend, and hope to see him in New Zealand on my next trip down under.

Next stop: beach

Last few days of my hols - the beach. It rained for about 36 hour straight but thank god it stopped this morning. A local cheerfully anounced rainy season had started and I could see my three days at the beach being spent in the room at the resort. Which is where I am now but only to get out of the sun for a bit. iPod in my ears, (note)book in my hands. Moved to resort from rainforest guesthouse this morning and owner dropped me off which was really sweet. Barely saw any Dutch on my entire trip and in this 12 room resort there's at least one Dutch couple plus a family of five. Popular with the cloggies, clearly. So...beach until Wednesday arvo. A couple of days to reach an even higher level of laziness. I am sure I am capable of that. In the meantime I keep myself up to date of the weird circus that is Dutch politics. Unbelievable. Good thing I'm living across the pond for a while....

The best lyrics ever

Came across this song today and realised I hadn't played it in a while. Whereas it's really a song you should play all the time. For its truth and wisdom.

Langkawi in pics

My home for the week

Pondok Keladi guesthouse
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

Pondok Keladi. My home away from home on Langkawi. It's a six bedroom guesthouse, owned by a Eurasian couple, surrounded by palm trees and rice fields. Four dogs and a cat live at the guesthouse, hens, roosters, cows, monkeys, squirrels, and what sounds like crickets and frogs share the area. For my week of doing bugger all but eat, read and explore a bit, this is just perfect.

In about 25 mins I am on the main drag, where all the restos and mini marts are. Loads of seafood and some very nice western salads. It's low season, which probably explains why quite a few places are closed. Still enough tourists tho to keep it lively. Tourists from everywhere. I hear a lot of Russian, German and Australian but also a lot of languages I do not know.

This being a predominantly moslim island, it is the first time I find myself surrounded by tourists in chadors (excluding the Arab invasion of London in summer). Quite a lot of them too. Several resorts list prayer rooms as one of their selling points. At the end of the little road that leads to my guesthouse, a mosque calls for prayer five times a day. Your regular ham and bacon have been substituted by turkey ham and beef bacon everywhere I have been so far. Some of the mini marts sell beer, but I haven't seen wine or anything stronger outside the duty free shop (which is also on the main road). It's a funny thing to see the women in chadors sitting on a beach next to scantily clad Russian women in full make up. But at the same time, it's good to see that with a bit of give and take, this beautiful island can be appreciated by all.

Comfort food at its best

Comfort food at its best
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

Hainan chicken rice. I first had it in Singapore in '02. Ever since it is's been one of my favourite comfort foods. When I make it at home, I cheat as I cook it for one or two people only. But here I can eat it like it's meant to be eaten, in one of the many specialised restaurants.

Yesterday shortly after seven I wandered out to a resto I'd spotted earlier to have my fix. To my surprise they'd sold out. Very frustrating as I could smell the ginger and soya sauce and all. Today I went back for lunch. The lady who I'd tried to order with the night before recognised me instantly and said 'chicken!' as she showed me a table. Five minutes later the fragrant stock, chicken, chilli and garlic dips and rice along with lettuce in oyster sauce were brought to my table. Including a fresh apple juice, the bill came to less than £3. There is something about the combination of ginger, chilli and soya sauce with the tender chicken and neutral rice that is to die for. When in Sing this weekend, I will make sure to ask my friend to take me to a hawker place to eat their version as well. Oh Asian food, I worship thee!

Kota Kinabalu, Sabah

Fish on its way
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

The second destination of my trip. Sabah is the non-independent Malaysian part of Borneo. Famous for its mountain and orangutans. Neither of which I will see. Well, technically I saw two orangutans in the wild park, but the area where you can see them in the wild is too far away. And the famous mountain? Would love to do that another time but I didn't plan enough time here to climb it. Not having done my research, I figured it'd be a day trip rather than an overnighter. So there are two reasons to come back!

Having a brill time still. Malaysia is wonderfully diverse. KK is very different from KL, it's nowhere near as big and not very pretty. However, the street of my hotel is quite nice and the resto's by the shore have a lovely view. The pic in this blog I took at the place where the fishermen's boats dock. Catch of the day was sent to the restaurants it seemed. Next to it, is the most amazing fish market I have ever seen. The fish is so simply but nicely presented and the colours of some of the fish were quite something. Also close by was the night market where the same fish, now grilled, seemed to be on display. I happily snapped along with my camera, after asking permission from all of the fish sellers.

As I did want to see some indigenous wildlife while here, I went to a Wild Life park today. By taxi which seems to be how one gets around here (backpackers who are roughing it excluded). Very few buses and no other public transport. Having lived in the city with the world's most expensive taxis (Amstie), this felt truly weird. Weird but very convenient. The park was very well done. Loads of animals, and loads of space for them. I skillfully avoided the 100 or so school kids most of the time, and had a lovely morning walking around and taking pics. The monkeys and otters kept me entertained for quite some time.

And back in the hotel now after an early dinner. Not quite the Sheraton but at 16 squid a night it's great. Superfriendly staff, a comfy bed and decent shower. Free bottles of water and cups of tea are gratefully accepted. Next door is a supermarket that seems to cater for expats and affluent locals. They even sell King Island , which is an amzing cheese brand from an island near Tassie and not that easy to get even in Australia. Very weird. I embraced my inner Australian by buying Arnott's shapes and a women's magazine but decided to give the cheese a miss. Not very handy when travelling.

Kuala Lumpur!

Couple on busy square
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

Travel is not just about the destination, but also about the journey. And a fine journey it was. A two hour stopover at Schiphol allowed me to stock up on Dutch magazines and have a McKroket (not quite the same as Van Dobben but hey....can't have it all). At the gate, two little blond Dutch boys were in awe of the KLM pilot who dutifully posed for them. Very cute. My stewart wasn't as good looking as the pilot (could have been the missing cap) but he made sure I had a good flight. Flying economy comfort was a good choice. Still didn't get much sleep but it sure was the quieter part of the plane and extra recline is a treat on 12 hour flight. My cabbie to the hotel had lived in Amsterdam and London, which was a first for any Asian cabbie I have ever met. Lovely chatty guy. And oh, the joys of checking into a flash hotel. Many people (and I used to be one of them) say it's not wirth the money as you only sleep there on hols. Well, did I prove them wrong. My jetlag kept me awake most of the first night. I went through half a Dutch magazine and half a Janet Evanovich. All between 1am and 5am. Only to fall back asleep around 5am, and not waking up until 11am. So half of my Saturday was gone before it started. Anyway. A nice shower, majestic bed, and good room service are treats I truly appreciate for a couple of nights straight on arrival these days. And what guesthouse would provide a room with massive windows on the 30th floor overlooking the city (albeit not the Petrona towers)?

When I finally was out and about, I headed to Chinatown and Little India. Amazing streetlife. Women with beautiful headscarfs and dressed in najib (or whatever you call the ones that just leave a little bar free for the eyes), the latter something I'll never get used too. Many women in sarongs in Little India, and in the centre too. I visited a chinese, hinduh and buddhist temple, and ate tasty street food. At the hottest part of the day, I stumbled across the Central Markets that had a nice cool coffeeshop with WIFI in it. Two hours later I had uploaded pics, read Facebook and Twitter updates and had some lunch. Most modern coffee shops here have free WIFI, great. And despite it being past 2pm, it was still bloody hot. I walked the pace of an average European 80yo, while drinking my body weight in water.

Dinner the first two nights was a hawker's place in the center. Tourists and locals alike eat Thai, Chinese, or Indian style street food on plastic stools. Cheap as chops and a huge variety. Grilled frogs and frog porridge are particularly popular with the locals, but less so with the tourists it seems. A stall that did deep-fry-your-own-skewers looked very interesting. A local couple offered me to try some of theirs, but I gave that a miss, something I later regretted. Might try some tomorrow. The centre is lively and right by the monorail station breakdancers and living statues entertain the crowds. Many coffee shops are lined along the main drags, and the first thing I saw getting off the monorail was a bloody Debenhams!

In the elevator back to my room, a (gay) American guy started complaining to me that he felt fat. 'I put this suit on today but am so fat I won't be able to take it off anymore'. I thought he was rather fit and good looking, said he didn't look fat (figured I should leave out the fit and good looking), and out he walked with a 'sleep well, love' and a big warm smile. And sleep well was what I did. Or at least between 4am and 9am.

Eight more sleeps!

For the past three weeks I have stopped myself from starting to pack my suitcase. As of tonight, I have given up. Too much excitement. Like a quarter back at the prospect of being in the cheerleaders' dressing room. A priest on his way to a playground (appropriately timed, this comparison, as the pope is almost on his way here). Or the good old kid walking into a candy store. The excitement that comes with the prospect of something big. In my case, a trip to my beloved Asia. Malaysia and Singapore, to be precise. In eight sleeps. With a busy weekend and week ahead (busy in terms of visitors, diners and lunches that is). So I allow myself to start packing. Eight books at the bottom of my back pack. Two books in the carry on luggage. Beauty products. Bikinis. I do tend to get my priorities right. All I need to do next is wack in some underwear, clothes, pack my camera gear and Bob's your uncle. Kuala Lumpur, here I come! Almost!

Ta'if

"The top notes are pink pepper, dates and saffron, the heart is of rose, freesia, orange flower and jasmine, and the base is of broom and amber. Ta'if is a earthy rose scent; the broom, amber and saffron in the blend make an accord that gives me an olfactory impression of the warm earth from the Arabian town of Ta'if where the roses are grown. The rose in the scent is voluptuous and full blown, supported by the warmth and spice of the rest of the blend. This is definitely a warm fragrance, rather than a cooler rose scent." Now I am not able to describe a perfume in this way, but blogger Londonmakeupgirl is. So I 'borrowed' it from her.

For ages I had been planning to visit Ormonde Jayne, a London perfume house. They have a little shop just off Bond Street. When I walked in, the shop girl was helping a middle aged couple find the right scents for them. They were lovely, 'normal' people, as opposed to the many rich folk you find in Bond Street. It seemed their son had given them a voucher each, such a lovely gift. Ormonde Jayne is a tiny shop. They have a handful of fragrances, and that's it. After watching her help the couple, I was quite keen to stick my nose in some of the bottles. When it was my turn, I described what I did and didn't like. Five minutes later, I walked out of the shop with Ta'if on my left wrist, and Sampaquita on my right. Twenty minutes later, when the scent had settled, I returned to buy Ta'if. What a lovely scent it is. And what a nice 'London' thing to have.

Amsterdam-London weekend

In two days in the Dam I got soaked twice and got the umbrella out a gazillion times. It usually rained for about three minutes at the time when I was out witht he brolly, and of course it wouldn't stop when I left the brolly at Mary's. Ah well. I went for friends and babies and friends and babies I saw. Plus I stocked up on drop, sultana biscuits and volkorenbrood. Gutted I forgot the walnut boterkoek. Then again, as the plane that was meant to take us to the Dam broke down on its way to London, I was lucky to even get there. Thank you VLM/KLM for sorting out a spare plane and crew within two hours!

And thank god for the bank holiday in Old Blighty today. It was sunny and warmish and lovely. Friend Ilse and I decided to go west and explore Richmond and Twickenham. I had been to the park and the rugby ground but that was about it. We spent five hours outside. Walked along the fields, ate blackberries, we even took a wee ferry across the river. Lunch was BBQed food at a pub by the river in Twickenham and we finished the day with a cuppa and a cannoli. I took one pic that I am too lazy to upload now but trust me, it was fabulous. And worth the 20 stops on the District Line as the fecking Jubilee line was out of service again.

My friend

Ready to party!
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

She is larger than life. A total party professional. Drinks champagne like it's going out of fashion but luckily has so many braincells she can afford to lose a few. She inspires me to live life to the max. To drink champagne on other days than NYE. Damn, it even got to a point when her love of latino men rubbed off on me. When she's heart broken, I feel her pain, and vice versa.

Who'd have thought, when we met back in '06 or so, in Cafe Hans en Grietje, that we would hit it off like this. For three months only we lived in the same country. But those three months were the beginning of a special friendship. Despite living about 10,000 miles apart, we manage to see each other once a year on average. And 2010 is a good year. A week in Melbs, a week in Tassie, and now four days in London.

The photo was taken on Queensday 2007. On our way to the boat I hired, we bought two champagne glasses at the vrijmarkt. Hers survived the move down under, mine the one to London. A tangible reminder of the good times we shared in the Dam.

My liver is lined up, the Veuve is in the fridge, the nice restaurants are booked. Bring on miss Brimson!

A different type of city trip

Dalkey
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

What we expected was a gloomy, grey, weekend in Dublin. Bit of rain, plenty of pubs. Good for chilling, chatting and making the most of our stay in the beautiful Clarence Hotel. No sun is required for catching up with old friend Paul on Friday night and eating nice french food at Frere Jacques on Saturday night - things we had planned to do.

How different reality was! It was sunny, warm and there were few clouds to be seen. So we only stayed in the city on Friday and explored the 'suburbs' (a bit of an insult for the beautiful towns on the outskirts of Dublin) on Saturday and Sunday. Malahide and Dalkey are affluent coastal towns with lovely cafes, nice little shops and beautiful coastline. We walked down to Portmarnock, watching the sailors, snorklers, swimmers and sunbathers (they clearly only do stuff that starts with an S in this part of the world). We walked along the beach, through a park and in the forest. Saw castles and castle shops. Had lunch in the sun by the Malahide marina, polishing off a nice bottle of white (only to get rid fo the hangover from mixing cocktails, japanese beer and good old Guiness the night before). Smelled the smell of fish when we strolled around the boat rental places. Admired the runners in Dalkey (seriously....heaps of them on Sunday morning!).

A great weekend altogether. And a confirmation I have so not lost my thing for the north Dublin accent! Or Irish men.

Oh, and a new thing I have learned: people in Dublin wear a lot of green. Seriously. Not just the tourists. I always assumed it was called the emerald isle because of its green countryside. But it must be because of the dress sense of the Dubliners.

Culture vulture and amateur chef

Two things keep me busy at the moment. Post having to balance football, Wimbledon, cricket and more, two things is manageable. They are the red pluche and food.

A big wish came through last weekend: with friends Ilse and Heather I went to see the Bolshoi ballet. Ilse is now spoiled forever as this was her first ballet, Heather used to be a pro dancer herself and saw it in that light. I just love ballet and was stunned by how good this company is. Unbelievable.

Two days later, Ilse, her parents and I joined the Arab contingent in Kensington. While we ate our pre-theatre dinner at a local Italian, we were entertained by two fat blokes with a fat car, boot open, who were handed bags full of designer clothes by the ladies they accompanied. Not once or twice, but four or five times. Business as usual in the rich parts of London in August, when many Arabs come here to shop, sometimes bringing their own cars from Dubai and the likes. It's a phenomenon that makes for great people watching. Anyway...the whole reason we were there was the Royal Albert Hall, as we had tickets for the Prom. I knew 3 of the 4 composers that were played that night. It's probably a good thing I didn't know the 4th as his piece was just awful! Nothing a three year old with the right tools couldn't do, we all thought. Weird avant garde noise. It was the premiere of that piece, the composer was there and half the crowd absolutely loved it. Rave reviews in the papers the next day too. Ah well.... Let's just say it wasn't for me. A half empty RAH on a Monday night by the way, turned out to be great for prommers who like to listen to their music horizontally. Several people were lying in the proms area as there was so much floor space. A funny view, from our balcony.

Coming up next on the culture front are Sondheim's Into the Woods, Shakespeare's As you Like it and Noel Coward's Design for Living. Plus I got tickets for Classical Spectacular. Slightly tacky but they do some beautiful pieces and play very English songs at the end.

Then food. Since I moved here, having access to proper supermarkets, I have completely rediscovered my love for cooking. At home I usually can't be bothered thinking ahead on a Saturday, and my local Albert Heijn is just that....an Albert Heijn. An inflated 7-11. Here, the abundance of great products make I enjoy preparing my own food more than ever. Throw in a website I discovered last year by a girl who does fashion and food equally well, and I eat like a king. The past two weeks I have made fantastic mozzarella and halloumi based salads, grilled organic chicken with lemon time and other stuff, squid salad, nice pastas, thai style tofu and what have you. At work, I am already thinking about that night's meal and popping down to Waitrose on the way home, I know another nice meal is on the cards that day. Life is good.

A weekend in the Dam

Overgrown bike
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

Now that I have signed the final extension to my expat contract, I am starting to get used to the idea that this is my last year in the big smoke. 1 July 2011, I am expected back in the Amsterdam office. And with this in mind, my weekend in Amsterdam couldn't have been better. I went straight from Schiphol to Toomler on Thursday night to meet my friends Vicky and Craig and a bunch of their friends, most of whom I knew. Two brill comedians and a good night out. The Amsterdam office on Friday, where I managed to catch up with loads of people who all made me feel so welcome to be back. A barbecue on V&C's rooftop was the perfect end to a very good day. Saturday morning was rediscovering De Pijp with Vic. New coffee places, new sushi bars, new clothes shops. Visiting a friend to meet her one day old bub. Bitterballen and wit bier, a pedi, and dinner with loads of friends in de Jordaan. Sunday was for my oldest friends. And their kids. Another barbie, more wine, and chatting away in the sun.

When I flew back home on Sunday night I couldn't believe how much fun I'd manage to pack into three days. It gave me that happy, relaxed feeling you normally get from a week's hols. No matter how sad I will be to leave London, it makes a difference to know I will be moving back to somewhere good.

An orange disillusion? Or not quite?

Hoping for the best
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

When we won the semis a week ago, I convinced my friend to host a barbie at hers for the Sunday night. She thought it was a great plan and, slightly intoxicated, we invited a bunch of friends. When I got home, Twitter and you tube convinced me I had to go to the Dam. By the time I had tracked down my boss the next morning and asked for a day off, ticket prices were sky high but I no longer cared. I had to go. Sorry friend. Bye bye BBQ.

Minor glitch in the trip was having Edgar Davids, whom I cannot stand, sitting in front of me on the plane, but hee hoo (had it been Clarence Seedorf, I'd have been over the moon). A lot of orange on the plane, a lot of orange at the airport. The train from Schiphol to the Dam was packed and orange and the experience brought tears to my eyes (I am a total sucker for sports madness and a bigger cry baby than Cristiano Ronaldo when it comes to sports). I knew I had made the right decision.

Half a day later, friend Mary and I enjoyed a quiet beer in Tapmarin. The same pub where I have watched big matches, with the same people, since '98. The clock on tele was counting down and the excitement grew. By the time the match kicked off, the pub was packed, and the nerves were almost unbearable. And then, nothing. No goals. No win. (No lack of cards.)

Gutted. Truth hit home when I was back at Schiphol, waiting to board, reading the Dutch papers. We lost. Big time. And not in the classiest way too. Godverdomme.

Today was a day of mixed emotions. I got loads of abuse at work, to the extent that the CFO did a karate kick and handed out a yellow card in a meeting. All playful banter, and I would have done the same. But man....painfull. Thank god tho for Dutch public television. When watching the playes interviews during the canal parade and the madness on Museumplein tonight, I realised what great guys they are. And despite some thuggery, they are a team to be proud of. A second place. That's 30 teams that did worse. As opposed to '74 and '78 when only 16 countries participated. What an achievement. I feel proud. Of the team, of the country, of the way the Dutch can be one. If only we could show the same spirit in daily life.

Wimbledon

Two years ago, I had only been in London for a few days when I went to Wimbledon. Women's final from Murray Mound. I couldn't believe how British it all was. Yesterday I went again. And after two years here, I still found it incredibly British. And lovely. The picknick areas, the black cab that drove me from the station to the ground (for £ 2.50!), the queuing sytem, the people with centre court tickets dressing up, it was all the same and all so different from say the Rotterdam tournament. No need to get myself a copy of the queing guide this year though, as a mate who works in the changing rooms got me a ground pass (and drinks for that matter). It was sunny, we had champagne and strawberries and I was ready for a smashing final.

A smashing final it wasn't. The most excitement from the crowd could be heard whenever Rafa changed his shirt (nowhere near often enough, I may add). Quicker than a priest could strip a school boy, most of Murray Mound cleared after the last ball. But it is as much about the experience as it is about the tennis. And the experience was wonderful once more. One minus of the whole day: I should have hung around, judging from my mate's Facebrag a few hours after I left: "Having a Haagen Dazs with Rafa". Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Summer in London

Tower Bridge
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

Summer in London can be Wimbledon, cricket, parks. But it's also walking along the Thames after work, passing BBQs that resto's set up, Italian al fresco dinner by the water. And on the way back, loads of locals and tourists hanging out by the river as if it were a boulevard.

That was last night for me. And when walking to the tube station, Tower Bridge just opened, the light was just beautiful and I embraced London once again.

Happiness is...

...visiting friends in Barcelona
...watching Ned-Esp by yourself in a Spanish cafe
...watching Ned-Cam with a friend in a London pub
...summer in London
...hearing your name on way home from pub
...staying for that one too many pint
...being busy at work and building relationships
...the football craze
...facebook chats between four dear friends in three different countries
...rocket, mozzarella and blushed tomatoes
...wine and cheese

And when all these things come together in a week and a bit, life is just ever so good.

A culinary day trip

Lunch by the river
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

From a weather perspective, our timing for a Cambridge trip was fab. From a sightseeing perspective however, it was pretty poor as a lot of the colleges were closed for finals. That didn't stop my friend Ilse and I to have a great day out though.

Basically our day was: coffee at a lovely little place opposite Trinity College, a two course lunch washed down with a bottle of Verdelho by the river, punting on said river, icecream, walking, reading the papers in a courtyard by the river, enjoying a few cold drinks, and a two course dinner with a glass of wine. So one might argue we have seen more of Cambridge hospitality staff than we have of its students. Very true. And it was brill.

Sas the scarecrow

If I am not going anywhere after the gym, I tend to walk home in my gym clothes and a cardi, thongs on my feet. My shower at home is much more comfy then the gym ones and I like the cool down a walk gives me. Today, I'd forgotten my cardi. And my thongs. So I ended up walking home looking like a scarecrow. Although on first glance, one might have thought I was wearing fancy shorts with a jacket, a closer look would have told a bypasser I was wearing running shorts with my high heeled cloggs and my linen jacket. Match that with a red face from the exercise, and a wet-cat-look from the rain that was coming down and I am sure I looked awfully attractive. I surely got quite a few stares. Thank god I didn't bump into any colleagues or clients. Although the moral victory would have been mine, as at least I had been to the gym!

My Tour Des Pays Bas

Beautiful east of NL
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

As I was spending fewer than 48 hours in the country, I decided to make the absolute most of my trip home this weekend. And I was quite impressed especially by how much one can fit into a single Saturday. By public transport mostly.

From the Amsterdam Transvaalbuurt, I went to Utrecht. Ran a few errands, got Martin Bril's Rokjesdag (he was a famous Dutch columnist who was intrigued by the phenomenon of the first day every year that so many women start wearing skirts - rokjes), ate a very Dutch sandwich and took a train to Apeldoorn. And then Voorst-Empe. Voorst-Empe is on the coolest trainline ever. A one track boemeltje between Apeldoorn and Zutphen. Cute as. Met the parents, drove to my nan who lives there, and had lunch. That was three provinces already. I took the boemeltje to Zutphen, where I changed trains to Arnhem. It's a good thing living in London changes your perception of distance. As long as I have a book on my, I find it totally normal these days to travel for almost an hour to go for dinner or meet a friend. Anyway. Arnhem. I had 1,5 hours spare before meeting a friend and driving to Den Haag with her. It was sunny and I was thirsty (day two of a three day mild hangover), so a drink and walk in Park Sonsbeek seemed the appropriate thing to do. Then Den Haag. Dinner with old work friends, in a lovely French-Asian restaurant in the Prinsenstraat. Fantastic food and a very decent sancerre. Quite late, I left province number five to head back to Amsterdam. Happy and tired.

London Fields

London lady
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

Just off London Fields is a small photo studio. I can't remember how I found out about it, but when I read about a one day camera workshop, I signed up. Friend Ilse decided to tag along, and so we found ourselves in Hackney on Saturday morning. It was an interesting mixture of people and experience. The course was good and structured, and provided me with quite a few tips and tricks

London Fields (that was partly cordoned off halfway through the day as a guy had been shot, and air ambulanced away) and Broadway Market are amongst the best places in London for people watching. I am not a great people photographer, so stuck to other themes. When the girl in the pic wasn't looking tho, I managed a quick shot. She's very Hackney, and I love the contrast with the older lady in the background. Need to go back on a shooting-free day to spend some more photo-time in London Fields.

Sunny days, but not for all

Canada Square is the home of HSBC, of Citibank, of several restaurants, a gym, a supermarket. It's buzzing during the week. And it does not buzz more than on a sunny Friday during lunch hour. Office staff read a book on the grass, eat their lunch at one of the tables scattered around the square, or sit on one of the benches, chatting away. Nothing says Friday more than office workers relaxing. It's the sign the weekend isn't far. And where better to relax than in the sun? So I bought some sushi and joined the crowd. So far so good. Happy feelings.

A stones throw away, a plaque is covered by flowers. When I walk up to see what it says, I notice the other people around it are crying, and comforting each other, and are not nosy office workers like myself. I quickly walk away, and look up the date on the net. Ten years ago today, when the HSBC building on 8 Canada Square was being constructed, a crane collapsed, killing three construction workers. The people I saw must have been relatives. Mourning the loss of their loved ones, by a stupid accident while the three men were at work. Their 21st of Mays will never be sunny again.

Glee

My Holland based friends may not have heard of it, but they will soon. In the US and the UK, you'd have had to lived under a rock not to have heard of Glee. It's not so much about the plot, which I find pretty boring. But the cast is brilliant. The remake of all sorts of songs from Madonna to Ice Baby make you smile or jump up and dance. The characters can be pretty interesting, with Sue Sylvester, the cheerleader coach, a top trending topic on Twitter on Glee days. It's revenge of the geeks and high school it-girls. Cliches all over the place, and they work. Try it, if you haven't done so already. It took me 2 or 3 episodes to get the hang of it, but I love it now.

Chili con carne

As it's pretty much November weatherwise, I decided to make a big bowl of chili con carne today. And it was the best I've ever had. Thanks to Jamie Oliver (basic recipe), mate JC (addition of chocolate) and myself (some changes to recipe). For six portions, here is what you need to do.

Chop two celery stalks, two bell peppers, two onions and two garlic cloves. Simmer in olive oil till soft. Add a tin of chick peas, a tin of kidney beans and two tins of tomatoes. Add 500 grams minced beef. Add a teaspoon of cinnamon, a teaspoon of cumin (I used garam masala instead as I'd run out of cumin) and a teaspoon of chili powder. Add some fresh chili and chili flakes as well if you like a bit of a bite. And finally add a little balsamic vinegar, some bay leaves, and a square of dark chocolate. Just let it simmer for an hour at least and serve with rice (I used wholegrain basmati) and some yoghurt, a wedge of lime and some coreander. Nom nom nom.

I will have some more tomorrow, as it's supposed to be even better the next day. The rest found its way to the freezer.

Elections

Tomorrow is D-day. For Cam and Sam-Cam. For Gordon and Sarah. And ok, maybe a little for Clegg the Clogg and his Spanish missus. And I absolutely hate not being able to vote. I mean, I understand the rules and I understand why I can't vote. But I so have an opinion. I have immersed myself in the campaigns, the points of views. I have followed the debates on Twitter (sorry Gordo, Nick and Dave, European football wins when it comes to chosing the tv channel). It's been a hugely fascinating campaign. The weirdos at the BNP and UKIP who I have seen in tv-interviews (ok, maybe not too different from home with our blond bombshell...). The hype around the honorary Dutchman. The mud throwing between labour and tories. The short time span between official announcement and election dates, very different from the situation in the Netherlands. All the celebs who have spoken out their preferences (Michael Caine, shame on you). Tomorrow night I will be glued to the tele to watch the prelim results. And in a month and a bit I will get my chance. For the Dutch elections I have already sorted out my vote. For now, I will be a bystander in the country I call home.

Mozart

Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

As last weekend was already my fourth trip to Vienna to see my friend Mari, neither of us felt the need to do touristy stuff. Mari was keen to see a concert in the Musikverein, and so was I. I like classical concerts and to listen to Mozart in one of the world's most wellknown music halls seemed great. How wrong we were.

For a shocking €54 I managed to do the most touristy thing in Vienna so far. And that includes visiting the Christmas markets. At first, I was quite impressed. A lot of people had dressed up beautifully. There were women in saris, a woman in a gorgeous kimono, and a lot of heels and pretty LBDs. There was a grandfatherly old man in a suit and hat. It all seemed very smart. The hall is amazing, people were snapping for ages before the orchestra entered.

And when they entered, that was when M and I exchanged an 'oh my god' look. The whole lot of them were dressed in pastel coloured Mozart outfits . White wigs and all. They then proceeded to play a 'best of' set of Mozart's work. Occasionally accompanied by an opera singer in dirndl dress and a male singer in traditional costume. The old man with the hat was happily tapping away with his walking stick, while we tried not to laugh too audibly. Just when we thought things couldn't get any worse, the mail singer walked on stage with a caged bird on his back.

The orchestra and the singers were fine but man.....the both of us will remember this concert for very different reasons.

The pic to the left is of crap quality but gives an idea of the orchestra.

London Marathon

The London Marathon is one of the highlights on my London calendar. It is the most amazing event. A huge number of runners dress in beer bottles, ballet costumes (men mainly), pooh suits and god knows what. I have seen firemen run in full gear. As if 26 miles isn't enough, imagine the extra weight and discomfort of those suits. Stood by the 16 mile mark, I watched a lot of runners struggle immensely. Striking difference between those who were clearly enjoy it and those who are just in pain. I have no idea how much was collected for charities today, but it must have been a lot. In the picture (knicked from bbc.co.uk) you see Richard Branson, and his kids Sam and Holly. If you look well you see princess Beatrice too. They were running as an 34-or-so-person catterpillar, raising money for various charities. Big cheers from the crowd when they walked past. Just made me wonder if there is anything Mr Branson can not do when he sets his mind to it.....

Summer in a bottle

Last year I missed out on Estee Lauder's summer only scent. By the time I needed a new body spray and realised how much I liked the fragrance, summer was over and it was off the shelves. When I walked into Fenwick yesterday, I bumped straight into the Estee Lauder counter. I smelled it, I bought it and today I am wearing it. It's summer in a bottle. Instant happy smell.

Oh, and the whole reason I was in Bond Street? To pick up a new Bayswater bag at the Mulberry store. For free. The bag I've had for about 1.5 years had some wear and tear that was very visible and couldn't be repaired. Warranty only lasts a year, so imagine my surprise when the store offered me a replacement bag or voucher for the original value of the bag! Customer service at its best. So happy as Larry I picked up my new bag that now sits on my couch being pretty. Just for the day though, as of tomorrow it will be my work bag, just like the previous one.

An unexpected weekend

Rent-a-deckchair
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

What my weekend should have been was afternoon tea with the relo's (including my bro who was over from DC), dinner with old work mates, beers with uni friends, brunch with the girls and a lovely Indonesian dinner with other close friends.

But that was before the vulcano errupted. I was glued to the KLM and City Airport websites but nope... No flights. Gutted. But I was going to make the best of my weekend. And man, it filled up quickly.

A work friend came round for Italian on Friday night with a gift cause I'd had a tough week at work which I thought was incredibly sweet. She hadn't had the easiest of weeks herself so we hit the cocktails and wine pretty nicely. Which didn't seem as great an idea on Saturday arvo, when my gym had organised a zumbathon. Three back to back classes. Hugely tiring but oh my god, it was so much fun. Straight from the gym to Putney Heath, to spend the rest of the arvo in The Green Man's beer garden for a mate's birthday. Pimms and lemonade and ham, egg and chips. If I can't have Dutch beer and food, I might as well go as english as possible.

And today was a me-day. The sun was out, the legs were sore. Off to Regent's Park. I am ashamed to admit that in the almost two years I've been here I had not once visited Regen'ts Park. How bloody stupid. The next friend who's visiting will be dragged there straight away. All the herons, ducks, other watery birdy thingies, tulips, magnolia's, how gorgeous. Everyone seemed happy and smiley, and it was just the most pleasant place to be.

The weekend may have been very different from what I planned, but it was one of the best this year.

Fun OD

When a weekend was so good as last, you want to make the memory last forever. Last weekend my old friend Sandra came to see me, and we just had the loveliest, most relaxing time. Nice dinners, snugged up on the couch reading, a long walk in Greenwich Park, dim sum lunch. And Enron.

The play / musical, a bit of both really. Somehow we got upgraded from limited view balcony seats to the front row. A good start. And it was incredibly well done. The decor was spot on. The cast was so good I thought I could just have a chat with the lead actor about mark to market and other finance stuff. I just completely forgot they were actors. My friend works in the sports industry and knows nothing about Enron, accounting standards and the role of the auditor, but she was equally enthousiastic about the play. Which is a big thumbs up to the writers.

Easter weekend

Spring
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

With friends everywhere between Somerset and New Zealand but not in London, my easter weekend is pretty quiet. Which is just what the doctor ordered, in between all these visits by friends and being away myself. One of my favourite me-time activities is going to Greenwich. Walk along the Thames, eat a crepe with lemon and sugar, see the museums and chill in the park. Even a grey day like yesterday couldn't stop me from enjoying myself. The daffodils a reminder that it is definitely spring, despite the weather gods having forgotten this.

Fishy Friday

A recently rediscovered old Jamie Oliver recipe. Made it last week for my friend, and will cook it again tonight. Halibut works perfectly, haven't tried any of the other fish. All it needs is a nice glass of white (in my case, d'Arenberg's Hermit Crab Viognier), a salad and a piece of nice crispy bread (Wholefood, I worship thee). The only thing missing is a limoncello to have afterwards.

1 handful of fresh rosemary, leaves picked
extra virgin olive oil
4 x 200g brill, turbot, halibut or blue eye tranches/steaks
sea salt & freshly ground black pepper
2 large unwaxed lemons, finely sliced
1 large handful of salted capers, soaked
8 good anchovy fillers
a splash of white wine or prosecco

Preheat the oven to 200c. Bruise your rosemary in a pestle & mortar to bring out the flavour. Add 6 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil & scrunch together. Pat half of this flavoured oil round the fish, season well & put into an earthenware dish or roasting pan. Lay 4 or 5 thin slices of lemon over each steak, sprinkle over your capers & drape over the anchovies. Drizzle with remaining flavoured oil & bake for around 15 minutes off the bone or 25 minutes on the bone. Now you could splash the wine in if you like. Remove from the oven & allow to rest, like a steak for 5 minutes.

Invictus

It tells the beautiful story of the special bond between Nelson Mandela and Francois Pienaar, captain of the Bokke at the time of Mandela's presidency. Pienaar grew up in a traditional white Afrikaner family. His team mates are all white, except for Chester Williams. Most of his team mates refused to sing nkosi sikelel' iafrika when preparing for the World Cup. Slowly but steadily, the team (and the country) realise they are part of a rainbow nation. And whether is was Mandela giving them strength or something else, Pienaar leads his team to a victory in the 1995 World Cup, beating the All Blacks in the final (with a cameo by Jonah Lomu). I easily cry when it comes to sport, but this flick touched me at many times. And it brought me back to Pretoria, 1997.


The still predominantly white team had been losing match after match. That didn't stop myself and thirteen fellow students to get tickets for the Tri Nations match agains 'Straya in the stadium in Pretoria. A beautiful afternoon in August. A slightly strange afternoon activity after a morning visit to Soweto, but so be it. South Africa had to beat Australia by 31 points or so. Not very likely considering their last matches. But they won 61-22. It wasn't the result however that impressed us so much. Fourteen Dutch students in rugby stadion will sing football songs. No way around it. And who cares? Well. Some people did. The Boers from Orange Free State behind us did, to be precise. In Afrikaans they asked us if it were football songs we were singing. Followed by comments that football was for kaffers, their president was a criminal, and what have you. We were shocked rather than angry. These men probably didn't know any better, having been indoctrinated all their lives. In front of us, some of the players' parents were sat. English speaking, friendly, courteous. They seemed to enjoy our enthousiasm and provided an endless supply of tangerines, beer and biltong. A good balance with the racists behind us.

I spent three months in South Africa in '97. But that afternoon, in that stadium, summed it all up for me. And it was the beginning of a strong love for a hooligan's game played by gentlemen.

Yeah! Theatre!

Ah, the joy of having theater nights to look forward to.

On Saturday, Dutch friend Nynke and I will see Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. I saw it before and absolutely loved it. Bought better seats than the £10-you-can-see-most-of-the-stage-if-you-tilt-your-head tickets that I had last time.

And in April, another friend is visiting, and Sandra and I will see what Enron is all about. It had rave reviews so am very much looking forward to seeing it!

Both shows are afternoon shows so we can indulge in some of the fab food London has to offer in the evening. In this case Hakkasan and Harwood Arms. The former is one of my fav restaurants in London, awfully stylish and amazing food. The latter is a gastropub that was awarded a Michelin star this year. It still has pubquiz nights on Tuesdays and the most expensive main is less than 20 quid. How good is that?!

Zumbatastic

One of the highlights of my week is the 5.45pm Zumba class on Friday. The dancing makes me happy as a pig in mud and it signals the official start of the weekend. It's 45 minutes of dancing to latin music, some Bollywood, the ketchup song occasionally, Love Potion Number 9 rather frequently and much more.

My gym only started doing the classes recently. And over the past weeks I have seen the class grow from 20odd women to a record 45 or so yesterday. There were also three men, who I am pretty sure were there only for some oggling. Poor Indian dude may have had more sincere intentions but the guy couldn't dance to save his life. He just stood there staring at his feet trying to make sense of it all. Anyway. The reason for this increase in zumba-ets is not only due to the fun factor of this class I believe.

It must have something to do with Doni. Venezualan Doni. Professional salsa dancer. And sex on legs. That is, when he's dancing. I once saw him while grabbing a coffee and he looked awfully ordinary. But while dancing. Fock. I bet all 45-odd women were secretly hoping to be dancing in those strong muscly yet lean arms. Nothing is sexier than a man who can dance. Who does the manly stuff really manly and has the softness that goes with the more feminine movements.

Now the sexier I find instructors, the more I cover myself. So my Zumba class attire consists of long black running pants and a dark blue University of Stellenbosch poloshirt that I have had since 1997. Clearly not all the attendees think this way. The number of bare midriffs increases by the week. And the more flesh, the worse the moves generally are. These girls make me laugh. They stand in the front, don't seem to know their arses from their elbows and hang around after class to ask some undoubtedly very intelligent questions. Me? I simply hope my red face and not-so-latin hips have gone unnoticed and just massively enjoy myself.

Dutschj

My boss is a bit of a muppet. In the nicest possible way. A good guy who likes his cricket and football and once admitted feeling a bit uncomfortable a Dutch, and a female Dutch at that, was so into cricket. I thought that was kinda cute. Recently, he has started copying a colleague, who has schpoken to me like disch sinsch I joined the firm. Assuming that is how the Dutch generally pronounce their english. Boss takes the effort to put it into writing though, especially when the Dutch guard is doing the London-Reading shift on his train home. Below the email he sent me last nite.

"Itsch Friday scho itsch de Dutch guard on de train to Reading. He hasch jusch announsched that I can't usche my perschonal schteeeeerio in the quiet car.

Schoot - I wasch hoping to lischten to schome tunesch

Have a good weekend - can we speak Mon re this survey thing?

Doidoi.......however you spell it!"

It had me in stitches. The doidoi is the result of me once ending a phone call with my Dutch boss with the words 'doeidoei'. English boss has been using it every time he sees me since. Men truly are just big kids!

Cooking spree

Now that my workdays are short, I spend more time preparing my food. It's not so much the cooking that I don't want to make time for but I just hate doing grocery shopping straight from work, laptop over shoulder, etcetera. So it's usually M&S salads and soups, or sushi on my way home from the gym. But these days... I have a fridge full of mozzarella, feta, goat's cheese and halloumi. Frozen peas, alfalfa, avocado, red onions, mushrooms, mint, parsley. The yummiest things end up on my plate. Was it Leon's superfood salad yesterday (from the cookbook my parents got me for my birthday), tonight it's a recipe from my favourite fashion blogger. Oh, the joys of having time to shop and prepare delicious meals!

Oh, and my house smells of hyacinths. Lovely fact. And the London Starsucks are now also selling the instant coffee that hit the US last year. Stupid fact.

Laughs and more laughs. And Matthew oggling.

When I read Private Lives was premiering in the West End in March, I asked my workvriend Viv, sitting opposite me, if she wanted to come along, and bought tickets straight away. That was back in November. Months flew by and all of a sudden we found ourselves in the Vaudeville Theatre yesterday, three days after opening night. Private Lives was written by Noel Coward some 80 years ago, but its themes are timeless. Kim Cattrall and Matthew Macfadyen were brilliant, the jokes were endless, and we had a fantastic night taking it all in, feeling enormously alive. A brilliant Saturday night.

Fetish

I'm afraid I took my bag fetish to a new level today. After four or so months of drooling over the Mulberry Alexa, my wallet was safe as I am not the type who's organised enough to get herself on a waiting list. For a bag. I'm a bag fetishist, not a bag victim. However, today, on my way to the gym, I remembered my local Waitrose has a Mulberry section in the non-food department. And there it was. In oak and butter. Waiting for me. First things first though, and throughout my zumba class, I could only think of That Bag. So as soon as the class was finished, I wet my face, sprayed some deodorant, and headed to the counter in gym clothes and uggs, asking to see The Bag. And it was as soft and beautiful as I thought it would be. The Bag is now mine.

Stupid stupid weather

It looked so promising yesterday. Blue sky. Sun. On my walk along the Thames I saw these crocuses. I didn't need to wear my wintercoat. And to add to my happy springy state, Ireland won the ruggers and Bridge didn't shake Terry's hand which looked damn funny. Then today. It was pissing down on my way to the gym. Still raining on my way back. I am sneezing again. And yesterday's good mood is pretty much gone.

Please please please weather gods, stop messing about. You've had your fun. Now give us spring.

Disappointed is an understatement

A new national trauma. WC '74, Hilbert van der Duim's missed lap on the 5k, Seedorf's penalty. And now Sven Kramer's 10k in Vancouver. Disqualified because of an error of his coach.

I watched it online, while chatting away on Twitter. And then it happened. Coach Gerard Kemkers told Sven to take the inner rather than the outer lane. Bye bye Olympic Gold. Bye bye Olympic Record. Hello amazing sportsman. Sven's interview for Dutch TV was impressive. So composed, so mature. I so felt for him. And almost even more for Kemkers, the best coach we've ever had. A beautiful person, judging from what I've seen from him in the past twenty or so years. By 3.24am I was still wide awake. Almost feeling their devastation. Thinking of Sven. Thinking of Gerard. And thinking of the amazing things these two have done. I hope they (and the rest of the team) can do more amazing things in the team pursuit on Friday.
Picture nicked off Wereldomroep.nl