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Jun. 13th, 2008 10:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eiffel_71
Went over to Gillian and Patrick's to watch Netherlands v France. Patrick had got a variety of drinks in including a bottle of port, so that was me sorted for the evening - the port was quite pleasant, and just strong enough without getting you monstered.
From the moment I got in the door, Gillian's two little kids were surrounding me, telling me all about what sports activities they'd been doing today and insisting on showing me their gymnastics moves. After they'd given me a running guide to all their mother's Buddha statues and their hamster, Gillian packed them off upstairs with a Kung Fu Panda DVD freshly burned from the Net by Patrick.
Patrick made oodles of pasta carbonara - not bad at all. We got massive bowlfuls all round, and Gillian implored me more than once "Feel free to leave it if you don't like it, I'll have it, I love it", but I finished all mine.
Patrick's still well impressed and surprised with me being an Oranje supporter (and didn't notice anything wrong with my Van der Vaart shirt). Before the game he asked if I really got more excited watching the Netherlands than England.
"Yes, I'm a real Oranje fan." I didn't bother adding that I don't give a chuff about England; I'm not sure he could have got his head round that.
Then as I sang along with Het Wilhelmus before kick-off, Patrick exclaimed "Wow" and when it ended he said "I don't do it that good."
The game was another slice of magic. From the moment when Dirk Kuyt popped up to head us in front from a corner on 9 minutes, it was always going to be our night. Poor old Patrick missed the goal as, moments earlier, Gillian's daughter had come down to announce that Kung Fu Panda was speaking Chinese, so he had to try and fix that problem then, when he couldn't, organise them something else to watch. I gave him a shout and he rushed down in time for the action replay.
The kids settled on watching Dodgeball : The Movie. Gillian, Patrick and I had a quick laugh remembering moments from that film, then Gillian asked if I'd seen White Chicks. I replied no.
"Oh, you have to see that!" Gillian got up, said I could borrow their DVD of it and fetched it from the shelf for me. "It's a knock-off, but it plays all right."
Gillian asked where I'd learned my beetje of Dutch from. I told her the Teach Yourself book. As they're moving to Den Haag in 18 months' time, Gillian wants to learn, so I promised to lend the book to her.
Early in the second half Gillian served dessert : peach ice cream. She explained that Patrick loves the stuff, which is popular in the Netherlands but not so well known over here. Fortunately, a shop near their home sells a lot of Belgian, German and Dutch food and one day this week she spotted peach ice cream in their fridge. It was a bit more like peach-streaked frozen yogurt. Lovely stuff.
On the hour Patrick asked if we could switch from BBC to NOS; while his English is pretty good, he was craving Dutch commentary. Despite Gillian's protestations "How's [malmo58] meant to understand it?" I agreed and so Patrick went outside to switch on his Astra dish and we watched the last twenty minutes in Dutch coverage.
When Ribery pulled one back for France to make it 2-1 Patrick translated the commentator's remark as "20 minutes from Hell". As it was, moments later Robben smashed a shot into the top of the net to send Patrick and me back into wild celebrations. For the rest of the evening we purred over what superb football the Oranje were playing.
Patrick asked if I'd come over for the quarter-final, but I explained I'll be in Birmingham that night, so we agreed that if the Dutch reach the semi-final ("Of course we will!" interjected Patrick) I'll go to theirs again for that. Taxi home; the driver asked me how the match had ended, praised the Dutch for their performances this week, then asked who scored the goals. At the mention of Van Persie, the driver gleefully pointed to his Arsenal shirt.
From the moment I got in the door, Gillian's two little kids were surrounding me, telling me all about what sports activities they'd been doing today and insisting on showing me their gymnastics moves. After they'd given me a running guide to all their mother's Buddha statues and their hamster, Gillian packed them off upstairs with a Kung Fu Panda DVD freshly burned from the Net by Patrick.
Patrick made oodles of pasta carbonara - not bad at all. We got massive bowlfuls all round, and Gillian implored me more than once "Feel free to leave it if you don't like it, I'll have it, I love it", but I finished all mine.
Patrick's still well impressed and surprised with me being an Oranje supporter (and didn't notice anything wrong with my Van der Vaart shirt). Before the game he asked if I really got more excited watching the Netherlands than England.
"Yes, I'm a real Oranje fan." I didn't bother adding that I don't give a chuff about England; I'm not sure he could have got his head round that.
Then as I sang along with Het Wilhelmus before kick-off, Patrick exclaimed "Wow" and when it ended he said "I don't do it that good."
The game was another slice of magic. From the moment when Dirk Kuyt popped up to head us in front from a corner on 9 minutes, it was always going to be our night. Poor old Patrick missed the goal as, moments earlier, Gillian's daughter had come down to announce that Kung Fu Panda was speaking Chinese, so he had to try and fix that problem then, when he couldn't, organise them something else to watch. I gave him a shout and he rushed down in time for the action replay.
The kids settled on watching Dodgeball : The Movie. Gillian, Patrick and I had a quick laugh remembering moments from that film, then Gillian asked if I'd seen White Chicks. I replied no.
"Oh, you have to see that!" Gillian got up, said I could borrow their DVD of it and fetched it from the shelf for me. "It's a knock-off, but it plays all right."
Gillian asked where I'd learned my beetje of Dutch from. I told her the Teach Yourself book. As they're moving to Den Haag in 18 months' time, Gillian wants to learn, so I promised to lend the book to her.
Early in the second half Gillian served dessert : peach ice cream. She explained that Patrick loves the stuff, which is popular in the Netherlands but not so well known over here. Fortunately, a shop near their home sells a lot of Belgian, German and Dutch food and one day this week she spotted peach ice cream in their fridge. It was a bit more like peach-streaked frozen yogurt. Lovely stuff.
On the hour Patrick asked if we could switch from BBC to NOS; while his English is pretty good, he was craving Dutch commentary. Despite Gillian's protestations "How's [malmo58] meant to understand it?" I agreed and so Patrick went outside to switch on his Astra dish and we watched the last twenty minutes in Dutch coverage.
When Ribery pulled one back for France to make it 2-1 Patrick translated the commentator's remark as "20 minutes from Hell". As it was, moments later Robben smashed a shot into the top of the net to send Patrick and me back into wild celebrations. For the rest of the evening we purred over what superb football the Oranje were playing.
Patrick asked if I'd come over for the quarter-final, but I explained I'll be in Birmingham that night, so we agreed that if the Dutch reach the semi-final ("Of course we will!" interjected Patrick) I'll go to theirs again for that. Taxi home; the driver asked me how the match had ended, praised the Dutch for their performances this week, then asked who scored the goals. At the mention of Van Persie, the driver gleefully pointed to his Arsenal shirt.
