Monthly Archives: April 2016

Early bedtime (10 pm), late wake up (9 am), feel unusually refreshed, and with coffee and fruit salad, the day ahead looks promising. Finalising a presentation and clearing my inboxes will take me into the early afternoon, followed by an hour long home workout (yes the usual cross trainer followed by, some exercises, stretches and then 15 minute yoga). The late afternoon looks rather different…. shopping, running errands and hopefully a long walk in the neighbourhood of Bloemendaal. I am so looking forward to this weekend….even in its mundanity.


Saturday breakfast

I know my blog as the inside of my palm. All the “fictitious” narratives mirroring events I could never ever disclose. The poems, the music, the characteristics I drew from people and happenings stranger than fiction.

Today the words of one poem sought me out….whether I wanted to hear them or not….If you forget me….which became one of many, many vehicles to gently tell you what could happen….if you forgot me. And now….now all I ask is for you to forget me. So please, please do not look for me….For I shall already have forgotten you.

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A Saturday to myself is a rare phenomena. But This Saturday was booked in advance including haircut and highlights, pedicure and manicure, wax job and facial. Needless to say I scrubbed up pretty well. In between appointments, I had some time to drop into a few stores, where I acquired this set of champagne glasses and candlelight holders with prints of Gustav Klimt. Beautiful effect, especially with the candles glowing against the gold print.


The kiss, set against an African mask acquired on one of many trips to Caen


…and with some Champagne

You’ve made a new playlist consisting of the best pieces from Penny Dreadful. It was gone from Spotify for close to a year, but it recently resurfaced….to your great delight. It’s the music you consumed unabatedly before you finally moved, not really knowing what was in store. It is hibernation music, and it suits you well as temperatures have plummeted once more. You thus find yourself wrapped up in your beloved fur coat whilst running on errands you didn’t find time for in the last months.

You rewind the hours, finding yourself in front of your collection of perfumes. They have become your new library, something always catches your eyes, and a new journey begins every time you crack a bottle….not dissimilar to opening up a book, its pages begging to be devoured.

It’s a bottle that sits on the edge…dangerously closely so, so you place it on the other side, in shelter of a jewelry box. The label is gone, but you discern Carthusia….you recall the woman in the Berlin branch of Galeries Lafayette telling you about the Carthusian Monk who presented a bouquet for the Queen of Anjou. The flowers sat in water for three days, but as he was about to throw them away he noticed that the water had acquired a pleasant fragrance. And so the perfume was born. Myth or legend? Probably the former, but 7 years after having acquired the perfume it still hasn’t lost its potency. It soothes your mind. Dinner, candlelights, talks follow…. more classical music and a game of chess. An hour before midnight you fall asleep to a documentary on the Cathar heresy.


my last farewells 


the circle was closed

…after all. Yes, that became the mantra for a great many years. Like a cold reset happening at midnight. Eventually the mantra lost its importance. After all tomorrow was just another shade of its predecessor. Other mantras became more salient. And somehow life took on the resemblance of normality. Work certainly dominated the lacklustre landscape. Its goal oriented nature fitted perfectly for shifting unwanted thoughts to something that held for the time more importance.

I still started each day telling myself how much interference, ingratitude, ill will and disloyalty I would meet. And I justified these actions with the offender’s ignorance of what was good or evil. I started most days like these… but after a while, the wisdom faded into obscurity, and my daily routine with it.

I clung to more work, as if it was the purgatorical ladder that would wipe away the past and – I suppose I hoped in vain – all the sins with it.


I wish this was a post written in hindsight. But it is not so. It is very much still written on that ladder. Climbing frenetically whilst finding new strengths to the sound of the keyboard. I am not very good with emotions, yet they are not far away.

But I find strangely new strength in something that stems from anger, desolation, even repulsion. So do you your best, I invite you to come with your whole mighty cavalry, your unbridled wreath beyond the usual resentment and hatred. I do invite you to take your best shot. Do it firmly, and not in haste, aim slowly and steady your hand. And no in this case a shot of Oban will not be your friend. But before you do prepare yourself well, read your classics and do understand what unleashing the four horsemen of the apocalypse entails. It will make Ichabod Crane’s mad pursuit by the headless horseman seem indeed just like….Disney


It’s working weekend – sim-ci weekend :). Which is good as I’ve had far too much free time last week, given the nice weather. Spent Wednesday evening with Sebastian on the beach which was quite refreshing actually. Can’t wait until summer is finally here!


beach workout


happy days ahead


obligatory selfie


King of the Dunes

I once came across this Tedx talk about why ultimately the one you need to choose for, is yourself. Not in a self-centred, narcissistic way….rather coming to accept the one you are (the good with the bad) and making the perhaps biggest commitment there is….to stay truthful and honour yourself. Just as if in a marriage. The epiphany came to this lady after a few broken marriages and many more tattered liaisons. The tale rung sadly true, but it kept lingering as an idea. Perhaps there was a lesson to be learned.

Well today is the day, as on my way to work, I popped by the jewellery store and acquired literally THE milestone.


Susanne Waldau, in the end no matter if we like each other or not, we better get used to the idea. This is, whether a match made in heaven or hell, one that will remain until death us do part.

You come home to an empty house. So you kick off your heels and pour yourself a glass of red…Saint-Émilion. It hits your palate and for a moment you succumb to the emptiness, slumping back into an armchair whilst putting on classical music. You raid the fridge, but there is not much left apart from a half-empty Thai takeaway.

Mental note to self to do the shopping tomorrow.

You change and get ready for an early night. A last sip of wine and then lights out…

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It was another one of those weeks that went by in a whirlwind and you sort of standing there in the harbour thinking “Did I miss the boat?” If I did, time will tell as whilst minutes and hours are imperative for optimized workflow management, it’s the weeks, months and probably years that will be the Judge. And thus I am sitting here reading the news, writing down my thoughts as well as the agenda for today (presentation finalisations, PID Framework, go through the emails, send off the admin and last but not least try to get a work out session….oh yes contact that Personal Trainer you got intro’d to)…thus I end it with the video I watched last night (a day too late I might add…but you will see what I mean). Google’s latest invention…..self-driving bikes. @Matt, I didn’t know you were such a great actor ;).

…the sharpest and wittiest tongue of Rome, Cicero was an orator par excellence… yet the most admirable do fall from grace and so did Cicero…

…according to Appian, Roman Historian

“Cicero…was condemned along with his son, his brother, his nephew, and all his connections, supporters, and friends.

He was escaping by boat but being unable to tolerate the roughness of the sea, returned to land and lay low in a country place of his…near the Italian town of Caieta. When the men who were tracking him down came near…some crows flew into his room, squawking and rousing him from sleep, and pulling his bedclothes from him, until his attendants divined that this was a sign from the gods, put him in a litter, and took him down to the sea again through a dense thicket which hid him.

“Numbers of men were running in various directions and trying to discover if Cicero had been seen anywhere. Everyone else, wishing Cicero well and pitying him, said that he had already put out to sea and his boat was under way, but a cobbler, who was a dependent of Clodius, one of Cicero’s bitterest enemies, showed the path to a small party under Laenas, the officer in command. He ran along it, and when he saw that Cicero’s attendants far outnumbered the men coming with him to wreak their vengeance, he very astutely shouted out, “Centurions behind me, come up on the double!’

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“The attendants were terror-struck, thinking that more soldiers were coming, and Laenas, who had actually once won a court case with Cicero’s support, pulled his head out of the litter and proceeded to cut it off. It took three blows and some sawing through because of his inexperience, and he also cut off the hand with which Cicero had composed the speeches against Anthony, portraying him as a despot, which he entitled Philippics in imitation of Demosthenes.”

“People immediately rushed to take the good news to Anthony, some on horseback, others by sea. Laenas found him seated in the forum and waved the head and hand at him from a long way away. Anthony was overjoyed and garlanded the officer, and gave him 250,000 denarii on top of the normal reward, on the grounds that he had removed the man who had been his greatest and most aggressive personal enemy.

“Cicero’s head and hand were fastened for a long time to the rostra in the forum, where he had previously played the popular leader, and more came to see the sight than had listened to him. It is said that Anthony had the head placed before the table at his meals, until he was sated with looking at the vile object.

“This, then, was the way in which Cicero was killed and outraged after his death—a man who is renowned to this day for his literary achievements, and was of the greatest service to his country when he held the office of a consul.” Appian, The Civil Wars, Book IV