Monkey nuts

In the good old days my parents were amazing at keeping us all fed and clothed, even when my father's salary was not very high and they had six children. Shops were a bit different in these days and so were drinks and snacks. Our lemonade was most of the times tap water, but on Saturday evening my eldest sister and me sometimes got a treat: we would have a bit of syrup topped up with water.

In these days chips and other snacks did not exist. If we would become peckish, there would be a slice of bread. Saturday evenings definitely were different. We would have that special drink and with a bit of luck this would become even more enjoyable. My mother would put a newspaper on the dining table and put a load of monkey nuts, like we called them on the table. The monkey nuts you would have to crack open to get to the peanuts, the shells would be thrown on the newspaper. Afterwards the newspaper and the shells would be thrown in the coal stove to be burned.

My mother died last year - not unexpectedly - aged 94, but even then, she is missed.
Last week I was shopping in our supermarket and saw a bag of monkey nuts. That name was even on the bag. So I could not resist and bought a bag. One evening I wanted to try them and they were very disappointing. My wife had a laugh: "These are raw, not roasted. You got the wrong bag."
We noticed that the birds love these nuts when you mash them, so they will be eaten anyway.

And the other day I bought a bag of roasted monkey nuts. The right stuff! So I now only have to wait for a suitable Saturday evening. I have the nuts, I have a newspaper. There will be a difference: I will use a bowl for the nuts. Maybe I will read the newspaper while eating the nuts and think of my mother.
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Spring

Two figures are on the beach, on a sunny spot, shielded from the wind by the flood wall.
They sit close together, the woman with black hair and the one with grey. The black haired one has her legs on top of the other one's, a double cross.
As they are in deep conversation one is drawing doodles in the sand.
Mother and daughter?
No, the grey is a modern colour, becoming more and more popular.

They get up, brush the sand off and walk away. First holding hands, changing this in putting their arms around the other's waist.
The grey haired one puts her head on the shoulder of the black haired, her face against the other's.
A delicate surrender.
After a few steps they stop, to kiss.
It's not a conquering kiss, it's a kiss of acknowledgement.

They walk on, the head resting on the shoulder again.
I watch them until they are disappearing from my sight.
Their spot on the beach has been taken.
A man playing with his dog.
He is holding a wrecked ball in his hands and the dog is trying to pull it out.
The dog is growling in a playful manner, the man laughs very loud.

It's time to walk on.

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Sonja

After being tested as a boy with a very high IQ I when I was 11 years old, I was destined to go to university. The secondary school I had to go after primary school was not one where people of the working class normally would send their children. It was in a posh area of the nearby city and I needed a bicycle to get there from our village.

I did great the first year, scored really high marks and was a very dedicated student. It was always a struggle to find a quiet place in our crowded house, but I managed to do my homework every day. It did bother me a bit that I was such a small boy compared to my classmates. The older students looked like giants to me. That changed in the second year, suddenly I grew like a beanstalk becoming skinnier and skinnier. My clothes were all a bit unfitting, the legs of my trousers too short just like the sleeves of my shirts.

My view of my fellow students changed a lot too, I had only eyes for one girl: Sonja.
She would sit two desks away in front me. I would stare at the back of her head all day, admiring her blond shoulder length hair. At home I could see it, while dreaming away, instead of doing my homework.

One day a teacher asked me something. I didn't have a clue what he was talking about and started stammering. The girl of my dreams had turned around and I could see she was miming something. It took a while but then I realised she was actually giving me the answer. I understood her message, gave the answer and the teacher was satisfied. He did add that he would be pleased if I would try not to sleep during the lessons. I only blushed, not being able to say anything.

During the next break I wanted to thank her. She was together with the big girl with the funny glasses. I waited till that girl would get away, did not dare to go to her. I just stood there and watched. The big girl went to the toilet and Sonja was on her own. I wanted to go to her, but remained where I was, sort of paralized. I made a decision: I would speak with Sonja at the big school party at the end of the week.

During lunch break I went to a nearby park and sat at a bench with my sandwiches and self hate. A few old ladies walked over and looked at me. I was very aware that they would think that I was a weird boy and felt ashamed. I got up, the old ladies sat down on the bench and I walked towards another one. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. Again I decided: Friday night would be my finest hour, I would talk to Sonja. Maybe we could become friends?

Friday evening I cycled to school, much to the surprise of my parents. "You? To a party?" I had mumbled as a reaction and just went. There would be a famous dixieland band playing.
The party people were mostly the older students. I felt out of place with my short legged trousers being not elegant like theirs; it seemed to be fashion to wear blazers and not a stupid coat like mine.
I was as tall as most of them, but I was very aware how skinny I was. Some of the boys were quite muscular. The girls were wearing colourful dresses, they all looked so mature. Yet none was as nice as Sonja. But she obviously was not there.

Yet a couple of the boys asked me if I liked to come along. They had a stash of beer hidden. This was only meant for the oldest students and the teachers, but they said they had nicked some.
I drank three bottles of beer and felt a bit more at ease, talked more in an hour than in the last year.
Not being used to drinking I started to feel ill and I told my new friends I had to go home.
I found my bicycle and hurried away from school, had to stop after a few mile because I had to vomit. I felt very sorry for myself and very stupid: of course Sonja was not at that party. I cried for miles on my bicycle.

The torture of my being so shy went on for the rest of the year. I failed horribly and had to change schools. Never saw Sonja again.

Years later I became a member of a website "Old Classmates". I found an old picture of the old class, saw my skinny old self standing at the back of the group. In the foreground sat my first idol: Sonja.
I even got in contact with her and we chatted for some time. She told me that she had been a very unhappy teenager, certain that she was very ugly and unattractive. None of the boys would ever speak to her and most of the girls were treating her bad. I told her of my secret love for her and she admitted that she had always hoped I would come to talk to her. She was too shy to get to me, never dared.
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Thank you

On alternating Mondays our bin is being emptied; one week it's rubbish, the next it's recycling waste. We all have put the house number on our bins, so not to become confused and to be able to trace them back when the garbage men leave them in the next street. In our little corner of the street we managed to become a bit social about this. Whenever a neighbour is not there, another will bring the bin back to the house. It's to prevent them to get all over the street or blocking the pavement. Often there is a lot of wind and an empty one can be blown quite far. Sometimes we have to search for them.
Because I'm a pensioner, it's often me who will do it; even for one neighbour who is home.
She is a little old lady, older than 80. I never asked her her age. She had a busy life as a midwife and is now enjoying her old age.

One day I noticed that the black insert of her recycle bin was seriously damaged. I told her so and advised her to get in contact with the island council. It is very easy to get a replacement.
Normally she is very clear in her words, but not this time. She mumbled a bit and it was obvious that she could not be bothered. Two weeks later I told her again what she should do. She is living on her own, very independent, so very capable to take of things herself. It's not nice to patronise elderly, that is why I did not want to do it for her. She mumbled again. I left it with that.

This Monday I was not there when the garbage men came, had to visit the dentist. When I returned, I noticed my bin had been put back to it's spot next to the house. My old neighbour had also taken care of the other neighbour's bin. She was busy putting her own back and I shouted a "Thank You" across the street. She gave me two thumbs up and I went into the house, complaining about the misery of my mouth to my wife.

An hour later I had to throw some tins in the bin and I noticed a black insert in my recycle bin without a number on it, heavily damaged. I knew that insert and it was definitely not mine. The little old lady had solved her problem, she now had a decent insert in her bin.
I had a bit of a laugh, tried to order a new one through the website of the island council. After five tries I realised something was wrong and phoned the number that was mentioned on the site. It took almost half an hour before I got a person on the line. She confirmed that the website was not working. "It has been reported." I will get a new insert for my bin within ten working days. I already have a plastic sticker with the house number for it.

I told the woman on the phone what happened and she had a good laugh: "How cheeky!"
A bit naughty indeed. I thanked the lady and ended the call.
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A Different Honeymoon

Nothing seemed to go like we had it in our minds. Instead of organising celebrations for our wedding we had to plan the funeral of my mother in law. We knew the risks of this international marriage and we certainly had to endure them: soon after the wedding we both were living again in our separate countries. My wife in the UK and I in the Netherlands.

We both were involved in a crowdfunding system for music, Sellaband. Once in a while parties were organised by the organisation itself or (groups of) artists. Because of being quite active members we would get invitations for parties and gigs all over Europe. Both of us had a job, so we could not appear on all these things. We already struggled to keep up a sort of marriage, having the Northsea between us. An invitation for a party and gig from three bands in Vienna in February was something that started us thinking: why not attend and combine it with our honeymoon?

The start of what we named a honeymoon started weird enough. I flew straight to Vienna from Amsterdam, but my wife flew to Bratislava in Slovakia and had to go by bus to Vienna. I arrived first and waited till she popped up in the hotel. After all these days we finally could enjoy each other's company again and so we did. The hotel was quite basic, but everything was there and the bed was very acceptable.

We realised this was not an average honeymoon, we had a lunch appointment with members of the band Solitube, their manager and some poeple of Sellaband. We had to hurry!
Our map of the city was quite good and we knew we were at the right track, had to cross a very big road, four lanes and a special lane for the bus.
While we waited for the light to get to green to be able to cross, a car stopped on the bus lane. A man got thrown out of the car and two men followed. While the man was on the street they kicked and hit him in any way they could.
It stopped when they got green light; the assailing men jumped in and the car drove off. The victim got on his feet, dusted himself a bit and walked away from us. Nobody seemed to worry about this scene; I had feared for his life, but he walked away like nothing had happened. Very surreal.

The restaurant/bar was not hard to find, but like we had feared, we were last to arrive. The others had almost their drinks and were ready for their meals. We both ordered an Austrain wheat beer, what had a great taste and sat down with the others at a big table. The food was as good as the beer and the manager of Solitube turned out to be a very entertaining host. The guitar player of the band was a bit silent but I thought that this was caused by his less mastering of English. What really amazed me was that everybody in the restaurant smoked like they had to heat up the place by doing that.

After the meal we said our goodbyes and did some sight seeing, like good tourists. We doubted about using the carriages drawn by horses, but decided not to. It was February after all and we would have our behinds about frozen off. Instead we did everything on our own feet. We stopped one to eat a Sacher Torte in a Konditorei. In Vienna you do have to eat a slice of that. It's a must. We also bought some Mozart Kugeln for the homefront. Not really my favorite, but something tourists buy.

After that we had a little nap in the hotel. In the early evening we walked towards the venue where the concert would be. We already knew that halfway there was a Vietnamese restaurant. Never tried that before. It was quite good, but the serving was a bit slow. That is why we ended up at the venue much later than we were expected. At the entrance a girl demanded that we paid, even when I assured her that we were VIPs. It was not that expensive and I did not feel like having a lot of attention on the street, so I paid.

We thought we might get the money back later, but it totally slipped my mind when things started to happen. We only just got used to the lack of light in the space. It was a huge basement and we decided to walk towards the part of the venue where the most people were gathered. A group of women said something to us: "They are waiting for you!" I didn't know these women and had no clue what they were talking about.

                                                    Mandana

We reached the stage and the band Solitube was busy with their sound check. The singer, named Mandana, saw us and jumped of the stage. She hugged us, welcomed us and introduced us to the band. The guitar player we met before, just like the manager of the band who also popped up. He had a choice of T-shirts and handed us a few. The musicians jumped back on stage and went ahead with their preparations.

A young girl approached us and greeted. I had to think a bit, but soon realised this was Kati, the singer of the band Rooga. Of course there were hugs again and we even had a photo moment. It's all a bit different when you are involved in something like Sellaband. There was a lot of contact between artists and fans/investors. It is something I had never experienced before and I don't expect to happen again.

The bands played there stuff and we enjoyed it together with their local fans. The three bands were all Austrian. Solitube played a sort of bluesy rock with an oustanding harmonica player. Rooga was more poppy rock. The third band, Kontrust, I did not know a lot about. My wife told me that day that she had tried their music and that I was in for a treat. I sure was! Their style was quite different, I would describe it as post-punk with a wink. The singer, Agata, was a Polish girl and I could imagine why the band had joined forces with her. She had a very powerful voice.

                                                    Agata

That became more obvious when their was an encore at the end of the show. They did a sort of all star appearance. Agata's voice almost drowned the voices of the other two singers. But we all sang along and had a good time, probably helped by the drinks we had.
There seemed to be an afterparty but we had enjoyed enough music and beer for that day. So we said our goodbyes and sneaked out of the building.

Somebody had been nice towards us and had phoned a taxi, which was already waiting in front of the building. The walk towards the venue had not been more than 15 minutes in total, so after having been driven around for almost 20 minutes I started to question the taxi driver. I wondered where he was taking us. Did he know his way around? The man became very irritated, blamed the one way traffic for the slow progress, but we were not very convinced. Finally we arrived at the hotel, I paid and the man said: "Normally people here give a tip on top of that." So we reacted that we normally tip too, but only when we get quality service for our money. He spat on the floor and raced away.

The next day we played the perfect tourists, used the U-Bahn and went to see the Danube and the St.Stephens Cathedral and more things like that. In a Backerei we enjoyed a lovely coffee and a slice of Esterhazy Torte. (Another must!) It was very cold and we were glad the hotel room could warm us up again.
The next day we flew together to Amsterdam, had planned some more days together. These days were quite limited: we got a phone call from the police in the UK. Waterpipes in the house of my wife had been frozen and had burst causing the bathroom floor collapsing in the living room.

Sellaband only lasted a few years, went bankrupt. The system had provided in making a cd for artists, there was no marketing, promoting or distribution. The artists were supposed to do that themselves. For most acts that is impossible, taking part in a crowdfunding system is already proof that you can't expect a lot. It made artists getting disappointed, just like the members/investors. Some had expected to be involved in massive selling cds.

Solitube split right after finishing a cd, made possible by Sellaband; Rooga made two cds without the help of Sellaband and Kontrust even four, having a gimmick being dressed in local gear. Both bands are still touring. I ended up with 100 cds of Solitube, given to me by a disappointed investing friend.
I was able to give away a lot, but the rest went into a dustbin when I moved to the UK.

                                   

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Chunky

After a few months I was used again to being alone in my room in the office. It had been a great time with Rick. He had always been good for a laugh with his silly things.
He often would sing along with our radio. In his own way: he would sing totally out of tune. When a song finished, he would look at me, saying: "Wasn't that great! Yes, that is why they call me the Voice."
He also had magic hands, saved me from severe back aches a few times. Last thing I heard about him was that he was hired by a professional football team in a city in the north as a masseur. He lives over there nowadays.

It was quite a surprise when one of the managers came into the room with Irene. I knew her from the olden days, when I just started working. She had been quite a big girl, but now she was huge. I wondered if she would fit in the standard chair. But she managed to get seated and the manager explained that she was going to be my new roommate. He expected from me that I would help her a bit, getting started with the same work I had been doing for years.

In the first days it was just amusing to talk about the old days, former colleagues and catching up on each other lives. Later I had a bit enough of the constant blabbering, I wanted to get some work done. She told me everything about her life, her family, her diseases and more. She would even phone to me sometimes to tell me that she was ill and would describe what type of fluids were leaving her body. Furthermore there were the continuous complaints about her body weight. She was desperate to lose some kilos, but gained instead and she could not understand why.

One day I was about to drink coffee during a little break with my friend John. He worked in another part of the building, but sometimes came over to me. I just put the phone down and sighed, pulled a face. Of course John wanted to know who I had been talking to. I told him about the story I just heard. She had vaginal discharge, probably caused by the menopause and she had described to me what it looked like and what it smelled like. I had been planning to eat one of my lunchtime sandwiches, but suddenly lost my appetite.

John had a bit of a laugh and we discussed my roommate a bit more. My friend mentioned her hugeness and I told him about her desperation to loose some weight. He could understand this. While drinking coffee he played a bit with her drawers. Normally they would have been locked, but not on this day. The top drawer contained pens, pencils and paperclips, the next one made him look up in amazement.
"You really have to see this!"
I walked over to him and looked at the drawer. It was filled with KitKat Chunkys and empty wrappers of the chocolate bars.

We said it at the same moment: "KitKat Junky!" Had a good laugh.
I never mentioned to Irene what I saw.
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Old and negative?

When you go on a coach trip it's always a surprise who are your fellow travellers. Sometimes you meet new friends; sometimes you see people sitting close to you, you would normally try to avoid.
We went on a trip by coach to Ireland. It started very early, we were picked up at 3 AM. Not my favorite time to begin the day.

We came to sit next to two elderly ladies, who immediately started to complain about the unholy hour we all had to get up. Their moaning increased after we had to wait for a couple that missed the coach, because of their taxi going the wrong way. We waited almost 2 hours and even after this were still on schedule. Maybe the old women were right in stating they could have been in bed two extra hours. All the others did not see how complaining could help.

Things went quite okay that day after the delay. We safely made it to Ireland The next day we had a bit of bad luck. There had been an accident, people got killed and the Garda blocked the way. So we were not able to visit the castle that was on our schedule. The old ladies shouted that we probably would go back to the hotel and be bored shitless. This was not the case: the drivers searched for a different route, another goal.

They started to search for a restaurant for our promised coffee break. Finally they saw another coach, a rather small one, parked. The driver was cleaning and told our drivers about a restaurant at the end of the parking lot. They came to an agreement with the owner and decided to get our coach off the road and park it. It was obviously quite difficult: the entrance was beautified with two stone pillars with stone lions on top. It took a lot of manoeuvering to get our coach through it. The result was a heavily damaged coach.

Near us the old women had a great time: "They call themselves drivers! Oh my God, we're all going to die! I can't watch this anymore!" Their big laughs showed that there was no real fear.
After this incident every difficult bend in the road got them to start shouting: "Oh no, not again! I can't watch this. Oh Lord, get me out of this!"

We never had real incidents with the driving, the other people on the coach rolled their eyes every time the old ladies started their moaning. We saw a lot of the western part of Ireland, had a lot of luck with the weather too. Ireland is a very green island, because of the amount of rain it normally gets.
It was very surprising to hear the old moaners on their mobile phones talking to a friend, saying that it was raining all the time and that this trip had been very boring. "We are being dumped in shopping centers all the time!" We visited the center of Galway, but that was all the "shopping" we did. Fellow travellers made gestures like the old women were out of their minds.

Coming back to England we were dropped at a central point. The old girls went to the drivers: "Thank you for a lovely time. We really enjoyed this trip. Will be happy to do it again."
I listened to it in amazement, my wife told me after some time that it would be better if I closed my mouth...
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