Saturday, 28 February 2015

Call Me A Train

Call me a train is a "Slagerij van Kampen" classic. Last Thursday Wanita and I went to the Schouwburg (Theatre) in Rijswijk to see Slagerij van Kampen. A strange name. A slagerij is Dutch for a butcher shop. Van Kampen is a very Dutch name. Not pronounced as "Ven Kempen" but the a is an ah, like the ah in "hard"(to pronounce). So Vahn Kahmpun. Now I'm in a flow "Slagerij", the a is not an ah but Slaaagurei. Well Slaagurei vahn Kahmpun is a Dutch drummers group, founded in 1982 and now in different formations playing for about 40 to 50 thousand people, year in year out. This year they added a brass section and it truly was a remarkable performance. Their new album "Lip Service", is so good, we just had to buy it.

On Thursday they played a variation to this "Call me a train" oldie, but I will let you hear the original. Without any distractions of jumping drummers, girls in tight halter tops, beautiful long hair or guys with real muscles. Just the music. I chose this number because the first train today made it's maiden journey underground for the very first time from the Hague to Rotterdam.

So in honour of the train, and as a big thank you to Slagerij van Kampen, ladies and gentlemen please let's hear it for: Call Me a Train!

Thursday, 26 February 2015

Mona Lisa's Smile

I'm delighted that Mona Lisa kept her promise to make a guest post on my blog. And I'm sure you will agree with me, it was well worth waiting for....

"Choose one of your favourite poems and tell us all why you like the one you've chosen."

Han wrote  to me Choose one of your favourite poems and  why as "compensation" for my lost of Goodreads challenge of 1964, that I have lost.

I  have read somewhere that poetry is nourishment for the soul and I agree with that.
I usually turn to poetry when I feel bad, when I'm sad or even feel good and I'm happy.
Poems has followed me throughout my ölife.

I'm one of those kids who has competed in the recitation of poetry since I was 6 years old. I used to represent my school in these competitions and recite poetry chosen by my teachers  and when I got older I choose what I wanted to compete in. All of this has taught me to love poetry.

 Hmm…… a fairly easy but actually a really hard question ..
Which poem should I choose?
Which poems we usually choose shows how we feel, how our soul feels ..

In less than 18 months, I have lost two people who have stood very close to me and who has meant SO  much to me.
Should I choose this poem poem or that one? Both used to nurish my soul when my grief was at the most gruelling.

Or any of beautiful poems of Karin Boye, "Of course it hurts when buds burst." ?
Or maybe something about love?
So many wonderful love poems are written through the ages.. From fiery and pasionerade Neruda's poems which Han van Meegeren so nicely presented on his blogg. I really thought much about this task, but at the same time my thoughts came back to that ONE special poem.

I have decided.
It will be the special poem that has meant so much to me throughout my life.
But first I want to tell you why.

There once was a girl of 17 years who experienced her first, strong, pure, innocent love.
He was a young man a few years older.
But as it usually is in this life .. and life is not easy ... it went as it went.
He was not free.
He has given his vows of love to someone else.

No, wrong.To something else.To an institution.We all know how those first failed love can hurt. How we remember them all our lives. And when this girl was hurting the most, she found this special poem that helped her get over these difficult moments.Wonderful words, wonderful rhythm .. beauty in every word. She learned it by heart in the original language.It was her daily mantra, to give her the strength to go on ...

Here is the poem, written by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin


I Loved You
I loved you; and perhaps I love you still,
The flame, perhaps, is not extinguished;
yet It burns so quietly within my soul,
No longer should you feel distressed by it.
Silently and hopelessly I loved you,
At times too jealous and at times too shy.
God grant you find another who will love you
As tenderly and truthfully as I.

What happened to this girl and this young man?
It went as it should.
She was happy married to a man who  reminds pretty much in his character of him,
and he has reached very high position in its institution.
They are happy.
They are still in touch with each other once a year.

Mood swings

Tuesday, 24 February 2015

Blogger doesn't like my pictures

If there is one thing that makes me furious, it is censorship. Somebody that tells another what to do and what not. I received this mail yesterday:

Dear Blogger User,
We're writing to tell you about an upcoming change to the Blogger Content Policy that may affect your account.
In the coming weeks, we'll no longer allow blogs that contain sexually explicit or graphic nude images or video. We'll still allow nudity presented in artistic, educational, documentary or scientific contexts, or where there are other substantial benefits to the public from not taking action on the content.
The new policy will take effect on 23 March 2015. After this policy comes into force, Google will restrict access to any blog identified as being in violation of our revised policy. No content will be deleted, but only blog authors and those with whom they have expressly shared the blog will be able to see the content that we've made private.
Our records indicate that your account may be affected by this policy change. Please refrain from creating new content that would violate this policy. We would also ask you to make any necessary changes to your existing blog to comply as soon as possible so that you won't experience any interruptions in service. You may also choose to create an archive of your content via Google Takeout.
For more information, please look here (
Yours sincerely,
The Blogger Team

Now I understand and I agree that children on the internet should be better protected against the pictures I post then just a mouseclick. So I would have no objection to a better protection system. Now I'm considering to close the blogger account and move to a WordPress blog on a free spirit site somewhere.

I hate censorship. Censorship is the first sign of intolerance. 
I really hate censorship...

OK, one more dirty picture

While on a trip, send yourself a postcard every day from where ever you are and write on it what you did that day. Once home, bind them for an instant scrapbook of your trip: Complete with photos, stamps, and a run-down of each days events!

I am going to this year!!

Sunday, 22 February 2015

Last train home

Until 1960 the train crossed the town in two parts at ground level. Here you see a crossing in the Rosestraat (in the heart of the Delft centre).

When traffic began to increase it was no longer safe and sane to have the trains at ground level anymore so between 1960 and 1965 between Kampveldweg and Houttuinen, just north of the Delft station a railway viaduct which was built. Even more so the town was split between a part before the railway (the old town centre) and the part behind the railway the new urban districts where most of the people live. But traffic was so dense every five minutes a train will pass and the two track railway viaduct has become a bottleneck in the train connection between The Hague and Rotterdam.

So six years ago government decided to build a four way track underground. The first two tracks are finished now. In the night from Saturday to Sunday again the a page in the history of the little town is being written. For the last time a train will ride on the railway viaduct.
After the train has gone underground the viaduct will be demolished and a second tunnel will be build for the other two tracks.

Tickets have been sold to the people who want to see the last train high above the ground for the last time pass. And you will be pleased to know the event is sold out.

Saturday, 21 February 2015


Tina Chang wrote: “Fury was the first emotion I felt when I read of the grand jury verdict regarding the Eric Garner case following on the heels of the Michael Brown case. At the same time, my five-year-old son was studying himself for a series of school self-portraits where he was asked to identify his physical characteristics. In each portrait his skin is brown and it is clear he loves himself without question.”


My son rubs his skin and names it brown,
his expression gleeful as I rub a damp cloth
over his face this morning. Last night,
there were reports that panthers were charging
through the streets. I watched from my seat
in front of the television, a safe vista.
I see the savannah. Sometimes, though,
my son wakes to a kind of nightmare.
He envisions words on the wall and cannot
shake them. He tries to scratch them away
or runs out of the room but the words
follow him. None of it makes any sense
but it’s the ghost of his fear that I fear.

What is a safe distance from the thoughts
that pursue us and what if the threat persists
despite our howling? Buildings collapse,
a woman falls down the stairs and lands
on her back with only one eye open, half
awake to her living damage. I think
my son senses what is happening
on the street, his heart fiercely tethered
to mine. I know the world will find him
and tell him the history of his skin.
Harm will come searching for him
and pour into him its scorching mercury,
its nails, its bitter breath against his boyhood
skin still smelling of milk and wonder.

Somewhere, the panthers are running
starting fires fueled by a distinct hunger.
Somewhere there is a larger fire, a pyre
stoked by the fury of all that we have come
to understand, all that we could have done
but did not. Its flames lick the underside
of the earth. It propagates needing
only a frenzy of air to fan it to inferno.
I’ll call that the Forest. The deep woods
are ahead and if the panthers could just reach it.
If I told you that all of this happens at night,
you wouldn’t believe me. If I told you
all of this happens in the future, always
the Future you would continue following
the scent you could only describe as smoke.
I’ll call that Justice.

But aren’t we talking about mercy and its dark
twin? Isn’t that what is pummeling history
in the side as I write this? Isn’t it the thorn
and the taser? Isn’t it the chokehold
and the gold arm of vengeance? I say it
from my mouth and when it spills forth
it lands on the ground in a pool of light
reflecting back at me the one true blasphemy:
Love and love and love and love and
love and love and love and love and love
and love and love and love and love and
love and love and love and love and love
and love and love and love and love and
love is crowding the street and needs only air
and it lives, over there, in the distance burning.

Tina Chang

Monday, 16 February 2015

Learn from the Bowerbird

Suppose you are a fairly nice, but fairly common male.
Suppose you want to mate with a female deperately.
What to do to get a nice female interested in you?

The bowerbird is such a bird. Nothing special. And they have found a solution for their problem. They build.
They build a bower, a courtship site. A tunnel shape, or a hut. And they take a year, sometime two years to build it. Just to woo their female. To seduce them into his little love nest. The female see the bird do its dance in the hut and the illusion of the hut makes the bird look larger and more impressive than he really is.

Scientists recently discovered that around the nest of the Bowerbird grow remarkably much fruit bearing  plants. And the fruit these plants carry the Bowerbird uses to decorate its nest. When the fruit wither and dies it is removed from the nest and at some distance put down. There it has a chance to grow into a new plant. Bowerbirds use their nest for about ten years on the same spot and thus around the nest the bird has build a real little garden with plants that bear fruit.

The basic design is similar for all bowers : an intricate cone-shaped stack of thin bare branches form a hut with a front entrance, and various collections of forest material are disposed inside or in front of the hut to produce a stunning display site, built by the male bird with the aim of attracting female birds. All bowers are however different : the shape of the hut, the choice of display items. colors and shapes, their arrangement. Typically the Bowrebirds would pick fruits, berries, flowers, mushrooms, beetle elitra, etc… , but when close to villages colored plastic or metal items are also chosen as long as the bird finds enough of them to make it a collection.

 Bowerbirds have also been observed creating optical illusions in their bowers to appeal to mates. They arrange objects in the bower's court area from smallest to largest, creating a forced perspective which holds the attention of the female for longer. Males with objects arranged in a way that have a strong optical illusion are likely to have higher mating success.

They are just tips guys. Build an impressive home with your own hands, stand before it and you will lure one inside. No doubt about that.

Sunday, 15 February 2015

Jesus bleibet meine Freude

This chorale movement is from the cantata Herz und Mund und Tat und Leben, BWV 147 ("Heart and Mouth and Deed and Life"), It was composed by Johann Sebastian Bach between 1716 and 1723. It is better known as Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring. If you hear the melody you will have heard it somewhere, on a wedding most likely. And you hear it in the most bizarre instrumental transcriptions nowadays. Bach only contribution was to harmonize and orchestrate the existing choral melody, written by Johann Schop, Werde munter, mein Gemüthe. Bach never meant this chorale to be a “stand alone” music, it was part of his 20 minutes Church Music “Herz und Mund und Tat und Leben”.

It is interesting to look at the text of the choral. The text was written by Martin Jahn (c. 1620–c. 1682 ):

Deutsche Original Text

English transcription

Wohl mir, daß ich Jesum habe,
o wie feste halt' ich ihn,
daß er mir mein Herze labe,
wenn ich krank und traurig bin.

Well for me that I have Jesus,
O how strong I hold to him
that he might refresh my heart,
when sick and sad am I.

Jesum hab' ich, der mich liebet
und sich mir zu eigen giebet,
ach drum laß' ich Jesum nicht,
wenn mir gleich mein Herze bricht.

Jesus have I, who loves me
and gives to me his own,
ah, therefore I will not leave Jesus,
when I feel my heart is breaking.

And it sounds like this:

That is number 6 of 10 parts in the cantata, the tenth and last part is:

Deutsche Original Text

English transcription

Jesus bleibet meine Freude,
eines Herzens Trost und Saft,
Jesus wehret allem Leide,
er ist meines Lebens Kraft,
Jesus remains my joy,
my heart's comfort and essence,
Jesus resists all suffering,
He is my life's strength,

meiner Augen Lust und Sonne,
meiner Seele Schatz und Wonne;
darum laß' ich Jesum nicht
aus dem Herzen und Gesicht.

my eye's desire and sun,
my soul's love and joy;
so will I not leave Jesus
out of heart and face.

And the same old recording:

Now this sounds very "old" to our ears so a more popular English translation was made:

Jesu, joy of man's desiring,
Holy wisdom, love most bright;
Drawn by Thee, our souls aspiring
Soar to uncreated light.

Word of God, our flesh that fashioned,
With the fire of life impassioned,
Striving still to truth unknown,
Soaring, dying round Thy throne.

Through the way where hope is guiding,
Hark, what peaceful music rings;
Where the flock, in Thee confiding,
Drink of joy from deathless springs.

Theirs is beauty's fairest pleasure;
Theirs is wisdom's holiest treasure.
Thou dost ever lead Thine own
In the love of joys unknown. 

It will not surprise you I like the translation close to the original German text the best. The moral of this long story is that if you hear a terrible instrumental interpretation again of this wonderful cantata "Herz und Mund und Tat und Leben", you will know it is just a snippet out of a thicker book. The context in which Bach, Johann Sebastian Bach, has written it was entirely different.

Saturday, 14 February 2015

Each Day is Valentine's Day

 Invitation to Love

Come when the nights are bright with stars
Or come when the moon is mellow;
Come when the sun his golden bars
Drops on the hay-field yellow.
Come in the twilight soft and gray,
Come in the night or come in the day,
Come, O love, whene’er you may,
And you are welcome, welcome.

You are sweet, O Love, dear Love,
You are soft as the nesting dove.
Come to my heart and bring it to rest
As the bird flies home to its welcome nest.

Come when my heart is full of grief
Or when my heart is merry;
Come with the falling of the leaf
Or with the redd’ning cherry.
Come when the year’s first blossom blows,
Come when the summer gleams and glows,
Come with the winter’s drifting snows,
And you are welcome, welcome.

Paul Laurence Dunbar 


Friday, 13 February 2015

(letter of) Indulgence

The best posts are the blogposts of people sharing a dilemma in their personal lives. Of course there are books or other things that should be promoted and sold, events in daily life to be shared, naughty pictures to be seen. My hero Batman had no dilemma: the bad guys were bad and the good guys are good. The Democrats in the US have no dilemma: the Republicans are wrong, and the Democrats have it right. And vice versa. The political system anywhere has no dilemma: If East is wrong, West is right. Palistines/Jews. Russia/Oekraine All of them aren't dillema’s because the truth is (the eight o’clock news tells us so) that one side  is right so the other side  is wrong.

A dilemma is a choice between two goods or two bad things. No right or wrong here. It is between good and good or, most common, between bad and bad. And in her truly wonderful post: “Why do we give too much” from Ana(stasia Vitsky) she tells us very honestly about her dilemma. She is taking care of her friend that is very ill and bound to a wheelchair and she is really getting worse too fast, too soon. And her friends daughter and grandchild live in with her and treat Ana like she is the hired help that should clean and cook and change the bedlinnen. The grandchild is being impossible because she is allowed to watch television until she sleeps (at the age of 4) and gets over stimulated and Ana is thinking and showing she thinks this is morally a wrong way of raising the child.

So: let's begin with the Dr. Phil part:
It is in a strange way a competition of affection. Both want the affection of the one that is so much struggling with life and loosing the battle for all to see. They both love her and have a different way of showing that. Even though Ana will probably deny it, the daughter must love her mother. Maybe she is not capable of showing it but she does. evidence based on two things. One, she lives in with her mum and she would never do that if she was indifferent and two she is jealous of Ana. Men have a different way of solving such a problem. We would have a talk outside and believe me, he would not say again: No dinner today?  but would start all by himself. Women have other ways. No open violence and yet I'm not sure it is less violent. You may think you have taken over this household Ana, to intrude yourself into cleaning and washing and cooking, but do not think I will step aside. It is my mum and my mother-daughter bond precedes any friend-friend bond.

Ana shows the affection to her friend - and I’m sincerely talking about love in the most purest form – by actions, not words. Her friend needs practical help in cooking and cleaning so she will walk that extra mile to do that for her (And because when you work hard you do not have to think and grieve). And when she sees a case of child neglect, she acts on it even without thinking. Because cause and effect are so obvious to her. And then the mom makes it clear she is the parent and not Ana, Ana will radiate moral judgement even if she doesn't want to, even without saying a word. And the mum will feel even more inadequate and Waterloo might not be big enough for this battle.

The dilemma to take care of a loved friend and being treated like the hired help by her daughter can only really be solved by taking  a step back out of the situation and say: OK, what is really important? Really important is that the hours, days, weeks, month with my friend will be peaceful. A hired help can do all that I do. But I’m not the hired help. I’m her friend. And I help her because I can and because I feel I have to. But I am not a help, hired or otherwise. And so I am going to talk with Cruella the Ville (the daughter) we will divide household chores. You cook one day, I will cook the next. If you don’t want me to interfere with your daughter, OK I will not, but I am a human being and I want to be treated as such, even by your four year old. And oh yes, I’m only here to help, just like you are. And oh yes, I do care about her, as much as you do. So I feel for you and your mum, as much as I feel it myself.

And yes, Ana, the four year old will grow up to be the spoiled brat adult her mum is now. You cannot change that. The only thing you can do is  to show loving kindness to your friend and even to your friends daughter. So when your friends daughter has reached the age of her mum she will remember that in all those selfish moments of giref there was some one there that was not thinking of herself and only of her mother.

And that, my dear Ana, is enough.

Tuesday, 10 February 2015

Goodreads Book Galore challenge 1964

Mona Lisa and I agreed to read a book published in each year of our lives and share our thoughts of it on our blog. So there she is, reading her thick Charlie Chaplin biography in the three weeks we have given ourselves to complete the book. I hope she has finished this book because I'm curious of what she thinks of it.

Roald Dahl (13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)

Born in Wales to Norwegian parents, Roald Dahl served in the Royal Air Force during World War II, in which he became a flying ace and intelligence officer, rising to the rank of Acting wing commander. He rose to prominence in the 1940s with works for both children and adults and became one of the world's best-selling authors. He has been referred to as "one of the greatest storytellers for children of the 20th century". Dahl's short stories are known for their unexpected endings and his children's books for their unsentimental, often very dark humour. His works include James and the Giant Peach, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Matilda, My Uncle Oswald, The Witches, Fantastic Mr Fox, The Twits, Tales of the Unexpected, George's Marvellous Medicine, and The BFG.

The story

Mr. Willy Wonka, the eccentric owner of the greatest chocolate factory in the world, has decided to open the doors of his factory to five lucky children and their parents. In order to choose who will enter the factory, Mr. Wonka devises a plan to hide five golden tickets beneath the wrappers of his famous chocolate bars. The search for the five golden tickets is fast and furious. Augustus Gloop, a corpulent child whose only hobby is eating, unwraps the first ticket, for which his town throws him a parade. Veruca Salt, the insufferable brat, receives the next ticket from her father, who had employed his entire factory of peanut shellers to unwrap chocolate bars until they found a ticket. Violet Beauregarde discovers the third ticket while taking a break from setting a world record in gum chewing. The fourth ticket goes to Mike Teavee, who, as his name implies, cares only about television.

Charlie Bucket, the unsuspecting hero of the book, defies all odds in claiming the fifth and final ticket. A poor but virtuous boy, Charlie lives in a tiny house with his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Bucket, and all four of his grandparents. His grandparents share the only bed in the house, located in the only bedroom, and Charlie and his parents sleep on mattresses on the floor. Charlie gets three sparse meals a day, which is hardly enough to nourish a growing boy, As a result, he is almost sickly thin. Once a year, on his birthday, Charlie gets one bar of Wonka chocolate, which he savours over many months. The Bucket family’s circumstances become all the more dire when Mr. Bucket loses his job. But a tremendous stroke of luck befalls Charlie when he spots a raggedy dollar bill buried in the snow. He decides to use a little of the money to buy himself some chocolate before turning the rest over to his mother. After inhaling the first bar of chocolate, Charlie decides to buy just one more and within the wrapping finds the fifth golden ticket. He is not a moment too soon: the next day is the date Mr. Wonka has set for his guests to enter the factory.

Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bucket can accompany Charlie to the factory. Mr. Bucket must search for work to put food on the table and Mrs. Bucket must care for the invalided grandparents. Magically, Charlie’s oldest and most beloved grandparent, Grandpa Joe, springs out of bed for the first time in decades. Charlie’s lucky find has transformed him into an energetic and almost childlike being. Grandpa Joe and Charlie set out on their adventure.
In the factory, Charlie and Grandpa Joe marvel at the unbelievable sights, sounds, and especially smells of the factory. Whereas they are grateful toward and respectful of Mr. Wonka and his factory, the other four children succumb to their own character flaws. Accordingly, they are ejected from the factory in mysterious and painful fashions. Augustus Gloop falls into the hot chocolate river—while attempting to drink it—and is sucked up by one of the many pipes. Veruca Salt is determined to be a “bad nut” by nut-judging squirrels who throw her out with the trash. Violet Beauregarde impetuously grabs an experimental piece of gum and chews herself into a giant blueberry. She is consequently removed from the factory. With the hope of being on his beloved television, Mike Teavee shrinks himself, and his father has to carry him out in his breast pocket. During each child’s fiasco, Mr. Wonka alienates the parents with his nonchalant reaction to the child’s seeming demise. He remains steadfast in his belief that everything will work out in the end.

After each child’s trial, the Oompa-Loompas beat drums and sing a moralizing song about the downfalls of greedy, spoiled children. When only Charlie remains, Willy Wonka turns to him and congratulates him for winning. The entire day has been another contest, the prize for which is the entire chocolate factory, which Charlie has just won. Charlie, Grandpa Joe, and Mr. Wonka enter the great glass elevator, which explodes through the roof of the factory and crashes down through the roof of Charlie’s house, where they collect the rest of the Bucket family.

Rejected chapter

As in almost all children's stories the children certainly didn't make a clean getaway. One is a bit stretched, the other is quite shrunk and a third has become blue. But Dahl actually had something much more horrible in mind for the spoiled, lazy or greedy children, according to a never released chapter, "The Vanilla Fudge Room '. The British newspaper The Guardian published some of it:
Don’t say I didn’t warn them,” Mr Wonka declared. “Your children are not particularly obedient, are they?”
But where has it gone?” Both mothers cried at the same time.
“What’s through that hole?”
That hole,” said Mr Wonka, “leads directly to what we call The Pounding And Cutting Room. In there, the rough fudge gets tipped out of the wagons into the mouth of a huge machine. The machine then pounds it against the floor until it is all nice and smooth and thin. After that, a whole lot of knives come down and go chop chop chop, cutting it up into neat little squares, ready for the shops.”
“How dare you!” screamed Mrs Rice. “I refuse to allow our Wilbur to be cut up into neat little squares.”

Weather or not the children were chopped to pieces is not quite clear. One of the Oempaloempa’s suggests in the following verse they did:
“Eight little children – such charming little chicks. But two of them said “Nuts to you,’ and then there were six.”

Dahl didn't publish it after all, because he thought it would be "to wild, disturbing and unsuitable for the little minds of young British children".


Even as an adult, even after so many years it is very understandable that this book is still one of the best selling children's books. I had never read the book before, just seen the movie about a hundred times, but the book has so many things I missed or forgotten. The toothpaste factory that closes down. Reading Mike TV as Mike Teavee is so funny. The story has a wonderful moral, and like a proper Calvinist Dutchman, I love a good moral in the story.

Willy Wonka must learn to show affection. He has much love to give, but he was only focussed on the work in his factory. He puts all his love in his work and hopes it makes others to love him. Unfortunately, no matter how tempting the chocolate is, people only love the consumption. Disappointed - he means it so well? - he locks himself in his factory.

Thanks to Charlie, however, he learns to appreciate the value of true love, the unconditional love that parents and children feel for each other. Love is not for sale. Money seems that love to stand just in the way; the only way to win is to attack the other's arms this love, to offer him your unconditional love - well, it is not entirely clear, but somewhere in there must be the answer.

I was glad I read this book published when I was 5 years old some 50 years later. I love the dark humour of Roald Dahl. I love this book. It gets 7½ points out of 10.

Saturday, 7 February 2015

Result Quattuordecim challenge nr. 13

We celebrated our Quattuordecim challenge 13 this afternoon. An empty house and we both felt like having a good time. And we did. After a little warming up of 45 minutes we started the first part of the spanking 32 spanks with the hand on her backside and in the intermission I held her and loved her. And had a drink for her. Then we had 32 more without having to restrain myself and put some force behind the spanks. 
After the rituals, you know the kissing of the hand (that felt nice and warm by the way) we cuddled and talked for a while. It felt good, and warm, and nice. So I was pleased and proud she had chosen the double or nothing dare, she was pleased and proud she got her Q-points, so yes. It was one of the moments in time to look back on with fondness.

We took a shower and dressed for daily life. Just another cold Saturday in February. Another memory richer. 

Heroes come in all shapes and sizes

Uruguay's President José "Pepe" Mujica became an instant celebrity in 2012 after the BBC published a feature documenting his austere lifestyle and detailing his past. A former guerrilla fighter who spent 14 years in jail -- more than 10 of them in solitary confinement and two of them in the bottom of a well -- Mujica later swore off violence and became a successful politician of the leftwing Broad Front.
"Years ago, we used to think that there were good wars and bad wars," Mujica told students at American University in May. "Good wars were the ones supported by a just and noble cause, for processes of liberation. Today, with all of our technological and scientific knowledge, war -- whatever its tendency -- ends up becoming a sacrifice for the weakest people in society... The worst negotiation is better than the best war. That's what I think now, because I know the pain and sacrifice of war."

Mujica's international presence was solidified in 2013, as he became famous for legalizing the marijuana trade, a pioneering effort at reining in the power of drug traffickers and transitioning toward treating drug abuse as a public health issue rather than a criminal one.
Even in democracies, few people elected to the presidency live anything like the majority of people whom they are elected to represent. Part of the reason why Mujica gained international celebrity status was that his humble lifestyle and folksy aphorisms struck a nerve in a world where prominent politicians live more luxurious lives than any of us can imagine.
In 2015 Mujica's term in office began winding down. And there some things about him I didn't know:

He legalized marijuana sales

Uruguay's president signed legislation in 2014 creating the world's first national, government-regulated marijuana market. Mujica championed the idea, saying that it would wrest power away from drug cartels and allow the government to focus on the issue as a public health matter rather than a criminal one. "We ask the world to help us create this experience," Mujica told Brazilian newspaper. "It will allow us to adopt a socio-political experiment to address the serious problem of drug trafficking... the effect of the drug traffic is worse than the drug." 

He legalized gay marriage



Mujica also presided over Uruguay's legalizing of same-sex marriage in 2013. Uruguay was the 12th country in the world to do so.

José "Pepe" Mujica actually was a public servant


Dubbed the "world's poorest president" by the BBC, Mujica donates 90 percent of his salary to charity and lives a modest life. How many politicians, who claim to serve the public, can say the same? 

Averse to how he should dress: he wore sandals to state functions 

That's Mujica on Dec. 26, 2013, at the swearing in ceremony for his new finance minister, Mario Bergara.

He drives a Volkswagen Beetle even though he could afford something way better

An Arab sheik offered Mujica $1 million for his 1987 Beetle. Mujica turned the offer down.
"We could never sell it," Mujica said in November. "We would offend all those friends who pooled together to buy it for us."

Because he rocks

Aerosmith met up with Mujica in 2013, offering an autographed guitar as a gift. Mujica put the guitar up for auction to raise money to build housing. “It’s signed by all of them and that surely has a lot of value,” Mujica said, noting that he’s not much of a guitar player. “That instrument must have been invented by an anarchist who was also drunk, because it’s very difficult.”

He lives on a farm, instead of a mansion 

Uruguay's president says he likes to keep his life simple so he can enjoy the things he likes to do, like working on his flower farm. He continues to live there, without servants rather than the presidential palace. "I've lived like this most of my life," Mujica told the BBC in 2012. "I can live well with what I have."

...With his three-legged dog, Manuela

Meet his wife

In the words of journalist Will Carless, writing for the Global Post, Mujica's wife Lucía Topolansky is a "senator, ex-guerrilla, prison escapee, torture survivor, blonde-bombshell-turned-wild-haired, farm-living, hard-as-nails first lady."

Friday, 6 February 2015

Double or nothing

I offered my beloved today a one time offer if she decided at once. Because the challenge was such an "eitje" for her, I offered her a chance to get 2 Q-points instead of one if she would take 64 spanks. If she lost she would have 2 P-Points to accept. She did not think very long about it.

Double it is.

New Outlet Store

New outlet store in town. But these are not for sale:

Thursday, 5 February 2015

Delft, City Hall

In the night of 4 February 1618 the old Delft City Hall built in the middle ages burned to the ground. Only a tower of the thirteenth century survived the fires. The City Counsel asked a few builders to build a new City Hall and chose the design of Hendrick de Keyser, that also was designing the new grave monument for Willem van Oranje at the time.

De Keyser build a new late renaissance building around the old tower and the building was ready in 1620.

Above the entrance it says in Latin: This house hates rascals,  loveth peace, punishes crimes, treasures human rights and honours the devout.

And in the City Hall there is this wedding room:

And I sat on the left chair.(Like it was yesterday).

Wednesday, 4 February 2015

Male pride

A little cheeky is funny. A little bit bold is brave. And sometimes, sometimes saucy can be insolent and rude. I want you to face the wall and lower your pants and undies and think about what you just said....

Tuesday, 3 February 2015

New Quattuordecim challenge: small egg

Small egg "eitje" we call in Holland an easy to do task. And this challenge is for my Wanita a small egg. She chose envelope number 13. Not going down the envelope in the order of numbers-road...

In this challenge luck is crucial. The spanking you will get will be destined by the roll of the dice.
1 = fly swatter
2 = bath brush
3 = my hand
4 = flogger
5 = ruler
6 = cane
The second throw with two dice will decide how much spanks will be administered to complete the challenge. The challenge is won after the last spank.

So this was the result of the first throw:

3, My poor hand.... It will hurt, LOL

The second throw. Do you want to know? Maximum 66, minimum 11.

32. Only 32. But I promised her 32 hard ones. No warm up, the real thing. 
Well, I'm not a soft boiled egg, you know?

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