Sneakers and Screechers and a little bit of sun.

Ah what weather we've been enjoying here in the Netherlands. We had two days of sun you know. That's right two whole days of blissful and hectic garden preparing, greek salad buying, barbeque cleaning and slapping on factor 20 activity. All this jubilant, swimsuited celebration as we prepared for the sweet promise of summer. Then it rained again. And again...

Today, I appear to have woken up inside "Hurricane Swamp Monster", lush, wet, mushy and cold. Although, to be fair it does look lovely and green everywhere. Even if the flowers in my pots aren't blooming yet, I live in hope that whenever the the next two days of sunny abandon are gifted to us, they'll overcome their fear of the typhoonesque conditions and show me their booty.
Or I'll just chop them down.

Admirably, a lot of the population seem to be baring their all and donning tiny little sundresses, spaghetti tops and shorts. Sometimes you can't even spot the goose pimples. Last Saturday for example, my men and I had been on a shoppage expedition to Amsterdam, Giant G being in need of new shoes, jeans and a few more t-shirts with catchy slogans like "The Devil Made me do it", to flaunt in the face of the teachers who have no concept of ADHD. That, however is another issue that I won't even start upon for fear of droning...but....although....NO.
Huhum..Sorry, where was I?
Ah yes, Amsterdam, Dam Square and a tropical 10 degrees, slight drizzle and lots of fractious tourists. Having spent a wonderfully entertaining 20 minutes in some super "sick" sports shop, where impressively trendy, earpiece equipped and betattoed sales assistants fitted G for exorbitantly priced sneakers, we paid and ran.
Making our escape, we headed onto Dam square, where a large crowd, some music and the odd beach ball floating high over the spectators, titillated our collective anticipation gene.
“Ooooh, what’s going on here then?”
Gareth’s height has its advantages over his Dad’s and my welsh stature, he peered over peoples heads. As his normally “unimpressed by anything” teenage expression took on a gleam of hedonistic excitement, I elbowed my way through to the front.
Girls in bikinis.
Lots of them.
A lingerie chain had recreated a beach scene complete with sand, deckchairs and pretty little, well endowed young ladies throwing inflatables into the suddenly energized audience. I had two thoughts. Poor things, it’s so cold and what was that tied to the beach ball? Could it be, yes it was, a giftcard for the lingerie chain. Once again, Gareth’s height was extremely useful as he effortlessly grabbed a passing beachball from the sky. The accompanying “euw, it’s got a bra on it” cheered my mood no end “Yes, so do those girls” I answered but he knew that already, his hypnotised, slightly lecherous glare was already turned their way. Bless him.
All fun and games, just some female students dressed in beachwear earning a few bob to subsidize their study. Admirable, really. Then I heard it. Droning, yelling, chanting, screeching. Rubbernecking like a mad woman I located the source of this cacophony. The Godbods, female division, out in force with tambourines and closed minds. They stood at the front of the crowd, bible in one hand and tambo’s in another, verbally abusing these young girls. They called them whores, sluts, tools of satan and much more. I was horrified, these women seemed to be drooling in their fervour for the Lord’s work, and the level of insults was rising as they peppered their abuse with “Hallelujahs”. Grabbing my arm and gently moving me away, Pat tried to calm me down as I yelled at the nearest one “How Christian is your behaviour?” to no avail as they synchronised their screams and finger pointing. Gareth, enjoying the scene even more since the God Squad arrived and the girls defiantly pepped up their performance, was laughing so much he forgot to be embarrassed by me. Phew! It’s all go in Amsterdam.

“In Christianity neither morality nor religion come into contact with reality at any point.” Nietzche