The Art of Queuing

An early start at John Lennon Airport didn’t feel so bad. Everything went smoothly, and security was trouble-free. This was possibly linked to wearing a sports bra rather than an underwired bra made from reinforced girders. A surprise to be able to glide through without the need of a publicly humiliating pat down.

Soon we were on the plane and ready to set out, albeit for the terrifying sound of what seemed like the engine was on its last legs. In no time we were ready to touch down. Everything going seamlessly well. Opting for two aisle seats adjacent to each other had also seemed a great idea that worked well.

I won’t have a wee and hold things up I thought in a moment of madness. I can hold it as it won’t be long to get through security, I thought. Obviously having more belief in my bladder function than I should do.

The start of a queue. OK, so only 45 minutes to get through. I can do this  thought to myself, it will be OK…..

It was the start of something akin to Dantes Inferno, a journey into hell. Imprisoned in a series of rooms and corridors, a purgatory which was hard to  After leaving the corridor, I thought ridiculously that we would go through security, but we entered another circle of hell, a room that had a notice stating another 45 minutes. Again and again, this happened until finally we went through security, got a Netherlands stamp, after over two hours!

An American writer once, “Apparently the Dutch now prided themselves on being better at queues than the English, which was absurd, because standing cheerfully in line was the English national sport. ” I wholeheartedly beg to differ. Everyone, of every nationality was getting hot under the collar, especially when you saw them round a corner only to see 100s more queuing!

What I will say is the pain and boredom of standing for all that time made me forget the sadness,humiliation, trauma of missing out the previous day at a job interview. Ticked all the boxes but not A level Maths. A drive of three hours and a grilling of an hour, a bizarre role play had made me a spent force. Going through in my head how I could have done things differently was replaced with the pain in my feet. So overall a terrible experience but one that helped to erase some of my self loathing.

All that time waiting in the queue involved various games, how many people with false eyelashes, a surprising high percentage. Listening in to conversations, ‘you soft cunt I can’t text you, my phone is fucked’, a great display of Anglo Saxon. All the while I wanted to scream, I didn’t vote to leave the EU.

By the time we had escaped, I was starving and subsequently had a carbon fest. Kassnack followed by a couple of eierkoeken, egg cakes, not too dissimilar to trifle sponges. Yellow, sweet, but not too sweet slightly domed cakes.

Apparently a Dutch weight loss consultant stated they were a healthy snack as they are not made with butter. I should have had more!

The first train we could catch was cancelled due to a collision. But luckily we didn’t have to wait that long for next one.

A pause outside the Central station to revive my feet.

Then we headed to our apartment, stopping for coffee and provisions.

On the way this is the step I slipped on this step. I photographed it later. Like the words of Gang Of Four, I was like a beetle on my back. My head strategically placed under the dribbles of dog piss. All sense of dignity leaving me as people rushed over to help me up. The embarrassment overwhelming any pain I was experiencing.

Luckily  our apartment was close, so I got up with Pete’s help, moving forward quickly without a backwards glance. Peter, the psychiatrist, was there to meet us. Not drafted in to offer psychological help and guidance after the debacle at the airport or the fall. He owns the apartment. He was lovely, but in equal parts I didn’t want him to explain every light switch, which he did with diligence and detail.

The apartment has been designed with a nod to Japenese style. All very beautiful but the paper panels in the doors are filling me with a dread. Peter hasn’t been to Japan but loves the space efficient designs they.

All so tasteful, many art books to delve into from Picasso to Schiele. I will not sit on this chair, it looks like it should be in a gallery and not for everyday use.

Eventually Peter left, his tour of the lights, how to use to coffee machine etc stretched for nearly an hour. Just before he parted he gave us a monologue o  how to look after the tulips he had bought me for my birthday.  He brought out a small watering can with struct instructions on how to water them in precisely 48 hours.

There are some things left in the fridge for us to drink, as a gift and other things to replenish. I an uncertain about the Black Label Johnny Walker I found in the freezer!

We went for a walk around, buying more provisions.

Initially, I hadn’t noticed the Japanese  porn/art in our bedroom behind a bamboo screen,

T