The Dutch Sign Compendium
This evening we leave these flat shores and head back to the Kingdom of Rain.
At the beginning of our time in Holland I stupidly promised those who read my nonsense that I would further nonsensify it by providing a Dutch sign that was either rude, or sniggerworthy. It has been surprisingly easy but has turned me into a bit of an idiot.
For example I got all excited when I saw a neon sign that I thought said “Jism Shop” and started shrieking at Meeester to stop the car. It had the letter i missing, and realising this, I was crestfallen and feeling a little stupid about yelling “Stop! Look! A Jism shop!” in front of my family.
I may have no Dutch blogs left in me but bizarrely I have a range of signs that didn’t quite make it into the blogs. Anyone reading the Misssives for the first time may get the impression that I am, infact, an adolescent boy. Sadly, I am a 38 year old woman. *Sigh*
Anyway here they all are for you all to access your inner idiot:
Zit Stof: A shop entirely dedicated to all things acne
The Winkel Passage: I’d rather not go in there, to be honest.
Trompet Boom: The reason I like this is
because Trumpet Bum was apparently
my dad’s nickname for me as
a baby as I was prone to loud bum trumpeting.
The Slaap Studio: I got so excited
when I thought this was a beauty salon. (It wasn’t)
De Quack: I’ll just wait til I go home and go to the NHS, thanks
De OpSlag Box: Lady of Ill repute in a box.
The perfect Christmas gift for that unmarried uncle?
The Homo Monument: My most childish effort.
There was no actual monument. Answers as to what it could be
on a postcard please cos I’m not even going there…
The “Te Huur” Numberplate: For Sale after a misguided bloke
bought this for his (now ex) girlfriend for a joke
I Do Not Predict a Riot
In this life there’s a lot of things that a person can get seriously upset about. A lot of things. But there’s nothing that gets me angrier than seeing someone drop litter. My level of fury knows no bounds and it’s only a matter of time before I get a good kicking from someone for challenging them.
I am now going to tell you a story that not only exemplifies this but marks me out as a complete idiot into the bargain.
Before I was Misssy M, I was Misssy T and I lived in my first flat with Meeester M in the sometimes challenging but always colourful area of Torry in Aberdeen.
Back in the day you had to get a boat to Torry from Aberdeen, but then they built two bridges to it. The folk of Torry have been trying to reassert their independence ever since. I liked living there but unfortunately the authorities put Aberdeen’s only prison there and then decided to house all the junkies in my street. Presumably they did this so that they could save on petrol when they needed to sling ‘em in the cooler for a spell.
My brother, who was to become Uncle E but back then was just E and his then girlfriend R lived on the other side of the river in Aberdeen proper. Meeester and I set off to visit them one evening.
As we turn off our street we spot a silver, spoilered- up ned machine outside HMP Craiginches, where the wild things are. As we near the car we witness a chip paper complete with polystyrene tray being flung out the driver’s window into the street.
Red Mist descends.
I break off from Meester and RUN to the car. Meeester claims everything that happened after point was in slow-mo, and accompanied by his 16rpm voice shouting “Noooooooooooo!”
I pick up the offending rubbish and throw it back in the window of the car without looking, listening and certainly without thinking. As I do so, the remainder of the ketchup covered chips and sausage go flying. Apparently, I exclaim something along the lines of “You filthy pig, put your rubbish in a bin!”.
I do not realise that the offending bloke has just lit a cigarette.
I do not realise that there are three other blokes inside the car.
I do not realise that they are parked outside the prison, presumably just after visiting their mate who’s in for GBH.
I do not realise that they won’t hit me, but they sure as hell will hit my boyfriend for having the bad sense to be my boyfriend.
I do not realise that there are ways and means to win hearts and minds over to making the life changing decision to start putting their rubbish in a bin.
I do not realise that calling people “filthy pigs”, covering them in cold chips and ketchup, and setting them on fire is not the way to do this.
