A year without summer
It's a long, hot summer in my attic room. A quick meal in the evening and then upstairs. As high as possible, far away from the sultry summer evenings, barbecues and garden parties. Re-exam, in September. I must pass, otherwise I’m stuck. And I'm going to pass. So, no summer, this year.
After a first week of suffering, I'm getting into my stride. I'm actually starting to get used to my hermit's existence. On my way home from work in the afternoon, I start looking forward to the silence of my attic. Not entirely healthy, but I'm going to make up for lost time.
Friends and neighbours are leaving for their holidays to the costas, the playas and the islas. The neighbourhood is becoming deserted. The A12 motorway too. I cheer myself up with the thought that I'll skip Schiphol Airport, jam-packed toll roads and shabby hotel rooms this year. It helps. I'm going like a rocket, stubbornly ignoring the greetings from Lloret, Lido, Agos Nicolaos and Katwijk by the Sea.
Speaking of Katwijk: One Saturday I let myself be tempted to visit some friends. Sunburnt in the afternoon, drunk in the evening and sick on Sunday in a sweltering caravan. But on Monday I make my comeback.
End of August. The holidaying Dutch return to the base. Of course, they all had a great time. My neighbours look devastated. The house of the neighbours across the street is for sale.
I have acted wisely not to get caught up in the annual holiday fever and am preparing for the final offensive. Two more weeks. I allow myself one Saturday night out. The neighbours have put their holiday photos on Powerpoint. It should be prohibited by law.
My office buddy John is open about it: he is very happy to be back in the office. Still a crying shame, of those thousands of euros, I will hear him complain until Christmas.
I pass with flying colours. September rewards me with a few last beautiful days. On the terrace of a beach bar in the evening I am one of the last guests of the season. The owner is happy with a few more customers, before she will close the bar after the weekend, until March next year.
While enjoying a Katwijk haute cuisine and the setting sun, I celebrate my success and make my resolutions. New Year starts for me in September. January 1 is just an insignificant intermezzo.
I stir a French fry through the blob of ketchup and decide that next year I will stay home again in July and August. And on Saturday I am going to buy a new TV. With Dolby Atmos. From my holiday allowance.
He is a bit strange sometimes, they often whisper behind my back. Well... it's just what you call strange. Most people are bad at putting things into perspective.
I'll have another cognac, ma’am. And a coffee at the side, please. I got to go back to work, tomorrow.