Reistafel, Bolognese and homeward bound.

I hear Graham get up at five thirty and wait until he is showered and dressed before going downstairs, Liliane is making breakfast, and outside it is dark and cold, but thankfully there has been no snow overnight. I give Graham a hug and then wave him goodbye, as he sets off on his bike to cycle the three or four miles to work. He is a manager for the Dutch equivalent of Social Services, which, as I understand it, is run and managed by a church related charity, but paid for by the government through taxation. After breakfast, Liliane and I drink tea and chat, she is feeling a little under the weather today, perhaps tired by the hectic weekend. It gets light much later here, as we are at the Western extremity of the Central European time zone. An hour on the clock, but only about thirty minutes geographically. I take Frankie for his early morning toilet walk, down the side of the canal and then back up the road where Graham and Liliane live, collecting treasure as we go and letting him have a good sniff around and marking his patch in the usual way. Later on we walk together to the Esch, Frankie finding sticks for me to throw and never tiring of the game, we meet a few people en route, who all stop to say hello, as Frankie is well known. There is a huge contrast between a ten month old border collie and a miniature dachshund of fifteen, but they both have their attractions and unique personalities. I am looking forward to retrieving Norman tonight, but shall miss Frankie, who although he is quite demanding, is very gentle and friendly. Dolly and Teddy would love him and probably pass on unhelpful rabbit hunting habits, there are too many roads and too much traffic here, to make off lead hunting safe. We arrive home around noon and Liliane let's me cook, nothing elaborate, just some egg fried rice with onions and peppers, using the left over rice from yesterday. It turns out reasonably well, Liliane managed to eat it, but perhaps she was just being polite. After lunch I clean the boots that I wore to walk Frankie and then pack my gear away into my overnight bag, in preparation for my trip home. My flight from Schiphol is at a quarter past seven, so ideally I ought to be at the airport at least an hour before that. Some quick calculations show that it is OK to catch the 4:20 PM bus, that stops almost outside the door and will drop me at the Metro station at Cappelsbrug, from whence I can connect with Rotterdam Central and Amsterdam Schiphol. Liliane is due to make a Bolognese sauce and I discuss how I make mine, which she probably knows anyway from reading this blog. By now it is half past three, but I persuade her it will only take twenty minutes to knock the sauce together, and it does, although I am persuaded, against my better judgement, to add mushrooms. Still it is their dinner, not mine. I leave the house at ten past four and thank Liliane again for looking after me so well and then sit in the bus shelter waiting for the bus. It arrives on time at 4:20 and drops me at the metro at 4:25 in time for the 4:30 to Boers, where I change platforms and board the 4:41 to Rotterdam Central, where the 4:51 high speed FYRA is just about to pull out for Schiphol. There isn't time to buy a ticket, but the conductor, who is stood on the platform by the door, says I can buy one on board, and instructs me to wait in the first carriage, where he will come to me. He does, and twenty five minutes later I am in Schiphol, exactly one hour end to end. After making my way to the departure lounge, I buy a large Americano from Starbucks and wonder whether they pay tax in Holland, but then sit down to read my book for an hour until my gate is opened for the flight. After the usual rigmarole with security, we board the plane at 6:55 and take off promptly at 7:15, arriving an hour and a bit later at 7:20 GMT, in Leeds. It is eight o'clock, by the time I have cleared immigration and customs and caught the bus to the long stay car park, where my car lies waiting for me. I choose to drive home via Pool Bank and Harewood house and then to link up, near Boston Spa, with the A1M and then take the A64 to York, before turning off onto the A1079, to Beverley. I call at Tesco and buy some sausages, bacon and milk for breakfast and then collect a sleepy Norman from Sarah's house around a quarter to ten. Sarah is wearing her nightie, and getting ready for bed, like Graham, she also has an early start in the morning, so I only stay long enough to confirm that they are all OK and that I have had a rather lovely break. Old Normy is glad to be home and intrigued by the scent of Frankie on my trousers, as he follows me about sniffing my trouser legs while I slice a baguette and eat it with Camembert for supper. It has been a long day, but the travelling was mercifully smooth and uneventful, I let Norman out into the garden and then turn in, around eleven thirty. Leaving unpacking and clearing away the mound of circulars by the letterbox until tomorrow.