Dear new tenant,

Attached little pile contains a lot of useful information we've collected over the last 2 1/2 yr, so we'd thought to keep it for you to leaf through. We've kept only the menus of the best curry places. There's also a bit of touristy stuff. Can't recommend the St Paul's though, never made it there. Maybe we should've known it would be closed on a Sunday...bloody expensive too, for a church, or so I've heard. But hey, there's 3 gorgeous museums only 5 tubestops away and those are for free. We can also recommend Kew, and don't forget to book yourself one of those brilliant ancient cottages, you'll never want to go to anywhere near a holiday park in your life.

We've left you all our lifelines: a well-used phone, a wireless internet thingy and a rather dusty freeview station. Quite likely some parcels will still be delivered for us after we've left, I found it hard to resist Amazon at times. You might notice the floorboards are a bit chipped, must be all the wheeled vehicles that have been speeding around here. O, and one of the boards has a scar from a fire...we think there's a washing machine jinx on the house as we've lost two of them through fire and the current one seems to be leaking (we did not have the heart to tell the landlord yet). Mind you, they get a lot of wear and tear as someone has changed over to washable nappies (no, NOT diapers). Last count a heart-stopping 12 washes a week. Speaking of nappies, if you're planning on having a baby, I can heartily recommend the attic. Quiet, and great view at night-time. Took the pool with us though, as beloved friend might be needing it soon. Generally a good house for having babies, probably also for making them but that's just a guess as modern technology prevents me from leaving this house as pregnant as I was when we came in. But by all means give it a try, the babymaking, the moon shines down lovely on the bed in the master bedroom. Last thing about attic: you might find the odd Lego piece there, please don't bother to send it to us as having plenty.

If you sit in the garden wating for said moon to arrive, don't be scared off by the noise in the undergrowth. It's the resident frog. If you have time on your hands, please dig the poor animal a pond. Noise could also be from our elusive friend the rat, by the way, which is probably rather fat by now since being well-fed by our messy little girl during all those dinners outside. Someone has to do it, I think. You'll also likely to be seeing Fred and Freddie, the former black-and-white, the latter pearly grey. Both nice, sleek, handsome, friendly blokes, faithfully donating their number two's in an effort to do their bit on the gardening front as we never get any further than watering it. You might want to invite them inside the house if the mice again start believing they own the kitchen.

You might think it is not much of a garden, but you'll be amazed at what sticks it head up at times. Too late for strawberries now, but you just wait until June comes again. Also look out for the roses, the honeysuckle, the rosemary and the marjoram, and loads of little bluebells in the spring. Hanging baskets need some TLC I'm afraid. And whatever you do, DONT clip the ivy. There's an old nest there and the Amazingly Stupid Robins will need it again next year if they're ever to produce a heritage line this side of eternity. In which case it's likely you get to see a different, darker side of Fred and Freddie. Not for children. Better to get attached to the blackbirds and thrushes nesting just above the gutter on the second floor. A damned lot of cheerful noise and way more efficient at child rearing, it seems.

I just noticed the nettles have started to grow back on the path outside the garden, next to the house. It seems very short ago that I cleaned them all out, me being heavily pregnant and horrified at the thought of them stinging those small sweet pink feet I love so much. If you're able to keep the nettles at bay you will be richly rewarded with blackberries, raspberries and elderberries. Incidentally, one pair of them (the feet, not the nettles) now has reached a gigantic size 2/34.

If you get tired of the garden, there's loads of playgrounds in the parks. Have your kids look out for the climbing tree and remember that any occasion is the right one for a picnic on the turd-free grass. Be unsurprised if asked to bring one of three courses and matching wine to picnic if ever invited to one of them by locals. And it took us a while to find out, but many of the rather shy, respectful and quiet-looking houses across Northfield Avenue are filled with kind and interesting people. Best bring your kids to the local school to get to know them. Be aware that the women move in groups, though, and many strictly organized, ritual activities need to be endured before you can pick the fruits of your labour. It might just be your chance to quieten down a bit and relax before you throw yourself in wholeheartedly. I found the Sivananda Yoga Centre a bit too far away for my liking in the end, but believe me, Ealing is teeming with Yoga teachers of every sort.

I wish you all the best, and hope you will be as happy here as we have been. Love, Pauline

Twee!

Met een echte Jurk:

een echte Taart (moi, je suis une patissieuse!):

en Het Kado:

Tadaaa!! Door papa, mama en Noa zelfgeklust want de berg plastic in dit huis werd een beetje afzichtelijk, vonden we

Geen feest...

Zaterdagmiddag. Waitrose. Crisis. Mijn wagentje ligt inmiddels vol met dingen waar ik echt niet zonder kan, maar waar ik over twee weken wel zonder zal moeten. Keiharde basisbehoeften: biologische groene thee met jasmijn, dito lemon curd, dito ginger nut cookies, dito mayonaise, dito salt-and-vinegar chips (oh, salt-and-vinegar chips...). Met een half uur weemoedige ellende achter de rug moet het ergste nog komen. Boodschappen voor vanavond. Voor het feest ter ere van ons vertrek. Aangeslingerd door een wijze vriendin die me aanspoorde met 'if you don't celebrate life by marking these transitions, in the end you're only left with the funerals'. Een vriendin overigens, die er vanavond niet bij want naar Leonard Cohen is. En dat terwijl ik toch wel al zeker een week geleden mensen was gaan uitnodigen. Dan tellen de afzeggingen namelijk niet zo erg, als mensen niet kunnen komen, als je ze zo laat uitnodigt.

En daar voltrekt zich, midden in de Waitrose, in mijn hoofd de elke keer weer wonderbaarlijke metamorfose: Het feest als de Grote Afrekening van mijn verblijf in Londen. Maak dat mijn leven. De waarde van mijn leven dus, eigenlijk. Die enkel afhangt van het aantal mensen dat zich vanavond op het feest meldt, met als ondergeschikte variabelen de gemiddelde verblijftijd van bovengenoemde gasten, het geluidsnivo en de drankconsumptie (in een ver verleden, herinner ik me ineens, maakte ook een eventueel bezoek van de politie deel uit van deze som).

Tussen de witte wijn en het bier krijg ik nu logischerwijs een kleine zenuwinzinking. SMS de vriendin. Krijg ter plekke een streng bericht terug ('...honestly...'). Heb hardop de slappe lach. Filosofeer even over Status. Mik de paar lege plekken in de kar vol met flessen wijn, en rijd zingend naar huis.
Het werd een feestje met echte mensen in plaats van statusobjecten, met echte gesprekken en met een gastvrouw die niet van de leg was. Niet druk, niet laat, niet dronken, en erg geslaagd.

Last children in the wood?

Soms is het heel makkelijk, mama zijn:

1. Skip Nursery

2. Smeer brood, en vul een fles met limonade

3. Pak de bus naar Richmond Park

(o enne...vind de stapel met afgezaagde takken en de omgevallen boom)