homework

One of the problems with being born in one country and its culture, and brought up in another means that it becomes hard, not to mention confusing, when after nearly 30 years abroad you suddenly find yourself back on the dockside from where you left all those years ago. Back in the country of your nature, if not your nurture.

I grew up in Scotland. Apart from a strange name you wouldn't guess I'm Dutch. I speak in a north-east accent. I talk about quines, and fitba and claes and things being foostie. I say "ay ay min" instead of hello. Thing are never awfully bad - they're affa bad. How are you? Fit like?

(In-joke for Dutch followers: I have never, since returning to Holland, referred to any corners as neuks. Pfffffft!)

Since coming back to Holland it's been a long gradual period of readjustment to my "home" country. Not having had a Dutch childhood I miss the cultural references that my peers have: the music, the films, the tv programmes, the football, the politics, the history etc. In other words, the Dutch life.

I'm a stranger in my own country.

Never is this more apparent than when I'm helping (read: hindering) the kids with their homework. Teaching them Dutch grammar is pointless, Dutch history likewise, to say nothing for Dutch geography. I travel up and down the A2 every day and S's hockey takes me farther afield, but I'm so unfamiliar with what lies beyond the black tarmac of the motorway it's actually shameful.

So todays Blip comes from me taking K. through her Dutch provinces and capitals with the aid of a textbook and a discretely hidden iPhone + Wikipedia.

Well, I have my credibility to maintain. Kids ken affa quick fin yer spiking shite.

(iPhone 4, Hipstamatic, Teja lens, Ina's 1969 film, standard flash)