Going back in time - or what to do in a powercut!

Our canal has looked pretty much the same since our houses were built in the 1850's. Because they were built during the Crimea War the row of terraced cottages has been known as "'t Krim" ever since.
But in order to maintain this image of old monnickendam, repairs do have to be carried out, and this week work began on rebuilding the banks around the bridge at the south end of the canal.

Its a big job, and I was very impressed by the engineering feats carried out as the area weas dammed, and the water was pumped away to reveal the footings.
Until yesterday morning, around 9.30, when we were plunged back in time as the workmen severed the mains electricity cable.
Once your electricity is taken away from you, you realise how much you need it! I had my washing machine on.... full of wet clothes, I could not make a coffee with my coffee machine. The house was getting colder, until I realised that I could light the gas fire manually, but I had no hot water, so I could not clean or do the ironing.
All the computers had crashed, including the ones John was repairing, and I could not work to answer emails or to design my new workshop. Even baking was out of the question without my electric oven.
I went out in the afternoon to buy a kettle for the gas hob, and pick up Jolanda from school so she could ride; and when we came home everything was working again.
What a relief!
Next time it happens I will be better prepared, but it was a weird experience being without such a basic necessity as electricity!

Seven things that should not happen in a supermarket!

You place a packet of white, fluffy, sweet smelling marshmallows on the belt at the checkout, and the checkout girl picks them up and smells the bag before passing them through the price scanner. No! Don’t do that! These are my marshmallows – they belong to me – even the smell belongs to me, and I’m not sharing it!

You are packing the scanned articles into your shopping bag when the same check out girl passes the bag of white, fluffy, sweet smelling marshmallows to her colleague on the next checkout so she can smell them too. No! don’t do that! These actions are an invasion of my olfactory ownership!

You have chosen a beautiful bunch of fresh, crisp, green asparagus and on getting to the checkout find they are not priced. You stand waiting while the checkout girl rings for a price. While she waits for an answer she absent mindedly fondles the lovely pointed firm tips of my asparagus, stroking and caressing them, feeling the ridges of the buds under her fingers. No! don’t do that! I am planning a superb entrée with these asparagus tips, they will be delicately poached until just tender, then served dripping with butter on a pristine white plate. How can I serve them with confidence when I know your hands have been all over them?

You get to the checkout with a selection of fast food; microwave goodies you are going to serve on those nights when you just have to eat and run. The check out girl picks up a packet of microwave spare ribs.
“do you like these, then?” she holds them dubiously, as if the pack were a dead sea creature served by south pacific islanders as a prelude to a cannibal feast. I don’t have to justify my food choices to you! Your job is to scan these items, take money and give change. Not judge what I and my family eat!

You are walking past the frozen food section when you meet someone you have not seen for months, a brief “hello, how are you?” develops into a blow by blow account of her divorce from her alcoholic husband; the recent death of her boss at the workplace; and the subsequent stressful restructuring of the company. Forty five minutes later and I’m wondering how it is I don’t have the technique to guide this overburdened woman to a secluded coffee corner, rather than blocking other customers’ access to the frozen peas.

For the next few weeks every time you visit the supermarket you see a certain persons ex husband in the wine and beers section, and take a detour each time to avoid him!

The person behind you at the queue for the check out says “hallo.” You turn and recognise one of your daughter’s old school teachers. You say “hi, how are you, I have not seen you for ages!” and she launches into a detailed description of her burnout and retirement from teaching, which continues as you both leave the check out area, standing another thirty minutes are she goes though the positive aspects of her burn out. My technique is getting better, we did manage to have some of our conversation in the relative seclusion of the supermarket car park.

getting paid to write!

I should not be blogging today, I have an assignment deadline!

I've been looking for freelance work for a few months now, and its been a steep learning curve. I'm registered on several internet sites as a freelance writer: They all work in a similar fashion; there are project providers, and service providers. A project is posted, and service providers are allowed to bid for the project. If your bid is accepted and you are awarded the work, you pay the site from the fee you receive at the end of the project.

There are masses of jobs, and loads of bidders; Its a global market and it is not easy pitching your bid at a level that beats writers in other parts of the world who are happy work for a few USD per article.

I was amazed that I got my latest bid accepted, but I'm now in the middle of writing a mini guide on getting out of debt! Its aimed at the UK market so maybe I have an advantage.

That is exciting enough, but today I finally heard from Expatica that my article has been published on their site - with a link to my (other) blog so that's really great too. Heres the link -

http://www.expatica.com/nl/entertainment/whats_on/Summer-fun-with-kids-in-the-Netherlands.html

I sometimes cannot believe that I actually write and get paid for it. Although I'm still in the "starving in a garret" category of writers!