Id of an English Woman

Why you should never grocery shop in Germany on a Sunday... especially if you have a kicking hangover!

Doing the weekly food shop is, in my opinion, worse than listening to #4's list of ailments. #4 is the current wife of my Father and so called because ... well ... she's his fourth wife. My Mother is known as #2 but my Brothers and I have never been mean enough to call her that to her face ... sorely tempted a few times but never followed through. #1 we have never met and #3 was a blond gold digging banshee of hellish proportions.

Anyhoo back to the food shopping thingy .....

For reasons only discernible to the Dutch you can't do your grocery shop on a Sunday. Every bloody supermarket in the entire country is closed. Which might be fine for all the God fearing, the church going, the highly organised and those that have fuck all else to do during the week but for people like me it's a nightmare.

I am used to being able to pop out to the store on a Sunday and get a carton of milk cause we have run out, again. Now I am reduced to sending the baby cloggies out to stalk the neighbours cow and commit the heinous crime of milk rustling ....... or so I thought ........

After a family skirmish over the border into Germany last Sunday we spotted a Super Market that was open! HOORAH all of our grocery troubles were over! Of course we were curious so parked the car up and ventured inside. We realised the error of our curious nature exactly 2.4 minutes after entering the store.

a) It was completely full of Germans
b) It was completely full of curious Dutch
c) It was one of those stores where you have to walk around every bloody section until you can get out.
d) German shopping trolleys are less controllable than American shopping trolleys.
e) Entire families including Grandparents and long lost Cousins were having a grand day out.
f) The gits had put a "serve yourself" candy section at the end of the walk through so the baby cloggies drove us mad just at the point when we though that we were close to escape.
g) It took 23 minutes to get out of the car park.
h) All of the above mentioned aggravation was intensified by a kicking hangover from the previous nights social activity.

Moral of the story ..........

Never let your curiosity get the better of you and ABSOLUTELY NEVER go food shopping on a Sunday with a hangover. No matter how much you need a pint of milk!

I have resigned myself to being better organised and making sure all supplies are purchased Ala the Dutch supermarket opening times.

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It's official - MEN CAN'T PACK! (and by pack I mean a suitcase!)

"Mum, I can't get the beer AND my sleeping bag in the rucksack ..... HELP MEEEEEEEE!"
As the ever dutiful Mother I suggested that the oldest baby Cloggy ditched the sleeping bag but even though the boy is "all growed up" he still likes to be warm at night and no girlfriends are allowed to this particular male bonding ritual more commonly known in this part of the world as a "Hockey Tournament."
I use the term "Hockey Tournament" lightly as hockey is used as a camouflage for a weekend of beer chugging, wenching, general hell raising and keeping an entire neighbourhood somewhere near Rotterdam awake for 48 hours straight.

Am I jealous? HELL YES! This weekend I will be weeding the garden, scaling the K2 sized laundry mountain and sucking up to the neighbours cause 1 of my dogs ate their rare breed rooster on Tuesday.

It was not so long ago that yours truly had the tough decision on whether to sacrifice a sleeping bag for beer but being of the female persuasion of the species I always managed to fit both in the rucksack ... and a hairdryer, curling tongs, make up, 16 changes of clothing, shoes for every occasion, emergency clothing in the event of an unforeseen Gala and other very important necessities for a 2 day event.

I met Cloggy at a hockey tournament but thats another story .....................

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HOLY CRAP THEY TURNED BEER INTO WATER!

Seriously .. tonight I witnessed an event that made my hair stand on end. A perfectly good drinkable bottle of beer turned into water for the baby clogg's show and tell at school.

Its completely the opposite of the "water into wine" thing that Jesus Christ of the Bible is reknowned for.

Active carbon filtration technology is fantastic for 3rd world countries and flood area's where clean drinking water is paramount for survival but in good old NL a beer is a beer and should not be metamorphosised under any circumstances. Not even for a school science project!

All alcohol in the cloggy household has now been locked up in the study with yours truly being the only key holder. Rest assured that the next baby cloggy show and tell will be about her pet rats.

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Sunday evening and the hockey scores are in - why oh why is Cloggy still angry?

Ok so this is not so interesting but hell its life!

Mini Cloggies played hockey on Saturday and did the following;-
Baby Cloggy - 7 - 1 Win ...... Hoorah!
Middle Baby Cloggy - 3 - 1 Loss .... Shit happens
Oldest Baby Cloggy - 4 -3 Loss - They shouldn't have gone out to the bar on Friday night!

Mama Cloggy - No game as the season is finished - HA HA we were champions 2 weeks ago!

Cloggy - 3 -0 Win ... Hoorah! Avoided demotion! Why is he still angry? ........
CAUSE HE DRANK TOO MUCH BEER AND TWENTE LOST AT THE FOOTY!

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"If they can't say Scheveningen ..... SHOOT THEM!"

I have been unreliably informed that the ability to say "Scheveningen" correctly was a huge factor in not being shot on the spot in Holland during the second world war. Apparently a German spy could be identified using this simple, yet highly effective, conversational starting point.

The identification of a potential German spy might of gone something like this;-

Dutch Person - "Hello Strange Goose Stepping Person. I haven't seen you around here before will you be going to the beach in SCHEVENINGEN this year for your holiday and will you be taking your towel?"

Slightly Nervous Strange Goose Stepping Person - " Hello Dutch person. I am new to this area and will indeed be holidaying on the beach in SKIVENGINGYEN. Of course I will be taking my towel for how else will I reserve my sunbathing spot at 5 am in the morning?"

Dutch Person - BANG!

Slightly Dead Strange Goose Stepping Person - ...............................................

Cloggy proposed to me on the beach in Scheveningen way back when a Guilder was the only acceptable currency in the Netherlands. After I accepted the soppy gits proposal he promptly followed it up with the above story and I have been shit scared that his Mother is going to shoot me on the spot ever since.

English people also can't say Scheveningen correctly!

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Women Drivers .... What's all the fuss about?

The ability to drive an automobile is 10% taught and 90% gender oriented. Yes .. the XY chromosome thingy has a large factor to play in our percieved skill of getting from A to B using the internal combustion engine. If us girls get where we want to go we are happy whereas you boys apparently have something to prove.

I am admittedly a mediocre driver happy to arrive at my destination within a pre-ordained 1 hour window and my parking abilities can only be described as indiscriminate, if the engine has stopped and the hand brake is on as far as I am concerned the car is parked.
There is no desire on my part in wanting to know what makes a car work. Just so long as it works. If it breaks down there are special people called "Mechanics" who can take care of all of that crap.

Cloggy on the other hand is fanatical to the point of being anally retentive on the subject. Not in the same way that Jeremy Clarkson is anally retentive with all things to do with the automobile but anally retentive none the less.

All trips are planned with the precision of a military general. We have to leave exactly at the time he has worked out days earlier and we have to get there exactly at the time he said we would be there. The car is packed the evening before and the GPS system is preprogrammed with the final destination point, even if its his Mothers house and she hasn't moved in the last 15 years. There are snacks and drinks in a cool bag for the journey so we don't have to stop at one of the "capitalist pig" gas stations on the highway unless one of the mini cloggies needs a pee and even then he has found a way to by-pass the coin entry toilet facilities.

He rarely gets a speeding ticket but when he does apparently I must have been using the car on that day. I followed along with that for a while until a hefty speeding fine arrived in the post just before Christmas. I wrapped up the speeding fine and put it under the tree for him to open on Christmas morning. When he opened it guess what his response was ..... you guessed it ..... " you had the car on that day", but I was ready for him, showed him the pre-prepared poof that I was not even in the country on the date in question and he dutifully added the money to my housekeeping.

I have observed that the worst male driver of our species is the dreaded sales rep with a company car. Below is my shit list of their offences in no particular order; Please feel free to add to it ...............

1. They think that they are the current reigning F1 champion.
2. They drive with their fog lights on even when sunny.
3. The fast lane is for their own personal use and god help any other of us poor mortals who attempt to use it for over taking purposes.
4. The speed limit is more of a general guidance than something that should be strictly observed.
5. Indicators are only to be used in the event you need to pull onto the hard shoulder to take a phone call
6. Amber at a traffic light means go faster
7. Mini round-abouts are specifically there to be driven over and not around
......
......
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Can you tell I had a crap day on the road yesterday or what?

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Ironing - Why I don't do any and why the Dutch can't say it properly.

Which delusional neat freak came up with the idea of Ironing? Why is it not socially acceptable to wear wrinkly clothes? Do you realise how much money the Ironing industry of this world is making out of us? Lots!

My families expenditure on ironing is driven myhusbands (Cloggy) obsessive pursuit of a good bargain. Last year he found a steam iron for less than 50 quid and bought it on the spot and my trusty old bog standard iron was relegated to the "might come in useful later" box.
The shiny white monstrosity was placed on the end of the ironing board which promptly toppled over cause of the weight of its new partners water reservoir was more that it had been designed to cope with. It was a really old ironing board.

Cloggy went out and bought a new ironing board - another bargain! 3 weeks of trouble free ironing ensued until the new ironstarted to hiss, whistle and spit water all over the place. Cloggy took the iron and disappeared into his work shed and returned sometime later claiming to have fixed the problem. He hadn't. The iron was taken back to the place where it was purchased in an attempt to swap it but the shop owner refused pointingout that the big dent in it was probably the cause of the problems "had we dropped it on the floor?" Ummmmm ............ Perhaps ...........

Cloggy came home with a brand new shiney white steam iron, same model as it was such a bargain. It worked ok for a few weeks until it also started to hiss, whistle and spit water and we hadn't even dropped it. We persevered until it got to the point where the clothes we were ironing were wetter than they were after coming out of the washing machine.

At this point in time we were moving house, a company move where everything the movers packed is covered by insurance. The iron was dutifully claimed on the insurance as "damaged in transit". Cloggy went out to the store and came back WITH EXACTLY THE SAME BLOODY MODEL AGAIN! At this point I refused to do anymore ironing until he bought me a decent iron whose whistling didn't send the dogs running for cover.

Weare now 6 months further. Cloggy is responsible for the ironing and tackles his chore without grumbling. The clothes need to be put back on the line after they have been ironed to dry out. The dogs huddle by the back door begging to be let out as soon as they hear the warming up whistles of the iron. And me ........ well I take the good clothes to an ironing agency when Cloggy is at work

.

Moral of this story is .. don't be fooled by a bargain and men really can do the ironing.

As for the Dutch not being able to say ironing? Next time you find a Dutch person wandering around ask him, or her, to say it and you'll see what I mean. I have been married to Cloggy for years and he still can't say it right. Cracks me up every time!

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Re-incarnation as a Wood Pecker

Now ... my Aunt is in regular contact with dead people. Every Sunday off she goes to spiritualist church in order to have a chat with my Grandfather - who has been dead these last 30 years.

Hmmmmm ... Well who am I to tell she's nuts - I guess everyone is entitled to their beliefs.

Not so long ago after a chat with Gramps she informed the family that another dead family member had re-joined the mortal plain, only this time he had come back as a Wood Pecker!

Again nothing wrong with that. Only problem is that there is a Wood Pecker living at the bottom of her garden and she is now convinced that the noisy bird is related to her.
Does this mean that if the Wood Pecker gets a lady friend and they have chicks do those chicks then also become family members? Should I buy them a tasty caterpillar for their birthdays? I think not!

During another Sunday chat with my dead Gramps she was informed that my Grandmother (living) would not see out the end of March. This information was met a little more harshly by the rest of the family. Although we did ask the Aunt if she could provide a date for the demise so we could getter better odds at the bookies.

My Mother promptly took Grammy to live with her few a weeks until the predicted "danger period" had passed. Sure enough the 1st of April came around and Grammy was still alive and kicking. To celebrate she took herself off to the nearest electrical store and purchased a bloody great big plasma screen TV with a 5 year extended warranty.

Nothing unusual with purchasing a warranty I hear you say - My Grammy is 97 - now hows that for optimism!

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"But Hen everybody reinvents themself when they move to a new country"!

For any of you that are trained in the black art of mind stuff for fucks sake don't take this blog seriously!

Quite a few years ago, when I was new to the moving around lark, I was informed by one Ex Pat Hoola that "Hen, everybody reinvents themselves when they move to a new country". I wondered what the hell she meant for a few weeks until I came across the afore mentioned Hoola in a local restaturant. She had transformed herself from a middle aged Scottish housewife into a Diva of Grand Proportions (she was a big lass) and was happily conducting her court to the adoring local population.
Since then I have met many reinvented Hoola's and I am in awe of their ability to put the lid on their ID personna once released. Hence the title of my blog. Cause apparently my ID is dominent!

Now I am not trained in the black art of psycology or any other of that malarky but I am able to Google and use Wikipedia.The following is a direct quote of very stern looking German guy (SLGG) who was apparently quite the Guru of ID. In fact I think he may of invented the term but you can look that up yourself.

"The id is responsible for our basic drives such as food, water, sex, and basic impulses. It is amoral and egocentric, ruled by the pleasure–pain principle; it is without a sense of time, completely illogical, primarily sexual, infantile in its emotional development, and will not take "no" for an answer. It is regarded as the reservoir of the libido or "instinctive drive to create".

I like the way the SLGG was thinking. He left out minor details in his description of ID such as shopping, shoes and a cheap bottle of chardonnay but in essance he had us women pretty well defined.

Oh I can hear you feminists shreaking ..... Shreak on!

If you don't eat, drink, never have been naughty once in a while, never focused attention on your self at least once, never have enjoyed the experience of something new, never squeezed a zit, never been late, never said something that was completly crap, have always accepted "No" for an answer, never laughed because someone farted at an inappropriate time or have never enjoyed a good hard shag - or even a gentle one - you may indeed have a point BUT DAMN YOU"VE MISSED OUT!

My point is this ..... Life is worth living to its full. When your all grown up you don't very often get the opportunity to just enjoy life on a childish level. Give your ID free reign once in a while, you might just enjoy it.

Thats all I am going to say on the matter.

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