Preparing for my move

Birthday cards, Clippers organic tea, Merchant Gourmet lentils, loads of chocolate, HP sauce, marmelade, lemon curd, Lizi's granola, coconut flakes, dried pineapple, books, books, books and quite a few clothes. My coping mechanism is to surround myself with Englishness when I return home in two and a half (!!) weeks. I can't bring my gym instructors, colleagues or favourite restaurants so I will settle for what I can bring. The movers will probably think I'm nuts (as dI think did the check out girl at Waitrose when she saw all the cards) but he ho. I like the idea of having my english stuff around me in my Amsterdam flat in a few weeks' time. Strange feeling that this time in three weeks, I will have pretty much unpacked....

Oh, and to balance it out: four big bags full of no longer worn clothes for the Marie Curie charity shop and counting....

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!

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.

Bowler Hat Day

Jeans day for the aids foundation, pink day for the breast cancer foundation, and Bowler Hat Day for Haiti. The English and their charities. Not only doesn't anyone seem to walk a longer distance than tube-home without raising money for a charity, offices do their part too. So for jeans day our head honcho sent round an email suggesting we could wear jeans to the office, if we paid £2 for charity. On pink day you had to pay £3 (partners £10) unless you were wearing something pink. And tomorrow there will be peeps selling bowler hats and bowler hat pins at London Bridge and Leadenhall Market, encouraging office workers to re-live the old days, whilst raising money for SOS Children's World Haiti.

Vouchers

Before I moved here, I thought Americans had a voucher-loving-monopoly. Boy, was I wrong. Vouchers for resto's, for books, for sports clothes, for cinema, for god knows what. Boots and Tesco occasionaly send me vouchers in the mail for discounts on bread, magazines, hair straighteners and what have you. I tend to put them in my wallet, only to throw them out two months after expiry date. Vouchers are clearly not in my system. Signing up for the newsletter of a nearby spa entitled me to a £10 facial. Using a bloody voucher. So the thing is in my bag now, and knowing myself, I will probably show up at the spa on the day of the appointment with another handbag and no voucher. Luckily some of my colleagues and friends are more voucher-clever. So my lunch with a colleague at Dim-T on Wednesday turned out to be cheap, and dinner with Zoe soon will be at a voucher-resto as well. Credit crunch dining and shopping.

Englishness

Comparisons

Hundred-and-something channels and still, I only watch the beeb. And I thought Dutch tv was crap... On the upsite, DVD's are cheap here and I found a dirtcheap book store on Charing Cross Road today.

Supermarkets are a blessing. When aussie friend Scott went back home he was looking foreward to supermarkets that made AH look like a 7/11. Rightly so. The Waitrose near me has fantastic flowers that are cheap too, a whole range of indian meals and loads of organic food. Love it.

When I came back from Oz, I really had to get used to dutch lunch again. Ham sandwich, cheese sandwich, glass of milk. Lunch here is hearty soup, sushi or salads from Itsu, Pret or E.A.T. Costs a fortune sometimes but damn tasty.

The Sunday newspapers....fantastic. In australia there was generally very little news in it. But here: weighs a kilo but so much good reading! Even the Metro is doable in the morning.

On my way to the tube, I pass at least six pedestrian crossings. And cars stop. Every time. Incredible.

The one thing I will not get used to: English bread. So anyone who will come and see me: a grof volkoren please!