Are the Dutch PLeased With An English Referee?
The BBC’s panel of experts think that a couple of the Dutch team should have had an early bath!
But then you see much tougher football every day in England. And then the referee and his assistants are all English!
If they had been from l;ots of other countries, there would be a different situation at half-time.
The Dutch Are Hanging In
But for how long?
I think I’ll put some money on penalties!
There seems to have been litle mention in the build-up to this game, that The Netherlands was once controlled by Spain. It’s not history I know too well, but I seem to remember that the Spanish Armada was going to pick up Spanish troops under the Duke of Parma from Flanders for the invasion of Great Britain.
Perhaps, just as the first Elizabeth supported the Dutch in their fight against Spain, we should do the same today.
The World Cup Goes Cuckoo
Or should it be cuckoo clocks, with the Swiss beating the much-fancied Spain?
And then we have the ambush-marketing row over the Dutch and their orange mini-dresses! I have every sympathy for them, as Budweiser is crap American beer, that has no place in a sport, that is not mainstream in the United States. In truth no-one should be locked up for the way they dress. Budweiser is also not gluten-free. so I can’t drink it. I suppose if I were in South Africa I’d be drinking Diet-Coke or some excellent South African wine. I’d love to know what coeliac friendly alcoholic drinks are available in the stadia for the World Cup.
It will be interesting to see what happens the next time the Dutch play. I wouldn’t bet against enterprising street traders selling everything they can find in orange and we’ll see strapping Dutchmen in orange T-shirts with matching wigs.
Valencia
Just watched Murray win in Valencia.
It was our last holiday. It rained and rained until the Monday, when we had to take the flight back to Stansted.
I wrote this soon after she died about Valencia.
We had not intended to go on holiday again in 2007, especially as we had already booked a fly-drive holiday in Thailand for February 2008. But my wife suffered the worst professional nightmare a barrister can! A case settled unexpectedly and she had a hole in her diary. So she felt that a weekend away before winter set in would not be a bad idea.
So why did we go to Valencia?
I searched easyJet and Ryanair for what was available at a sensible price from Stansted in three or four days time.
Valencia was either first or second for value and convenience and there appeared to be a good five star hotel called Las Arenas on the beach. The value for that was good too.
So we booked and flew out at lunchtime on Friday. The hotel was stunning, friendly, extremely comfortable and very much worth the hundred and fifty pounds a night we were paying.
But you couldn’t say that for the weather! It rained cats, dogs and hippopotami until the Monday morning, which was the first day my wife was able to have one of her beloved swims.
Valencia is an architectural gem, with buildings ranging from the classical and religious to the ultra modern.
Valencia is unusual in that after catastrophic floods in the 1950s, they diverted the River Turia around the city and created a linear park that runs from the city centre to the coast.
It would be interesting to know what fuss would be created if a city these days decided to divert a river as big as the Turia.
We ate very well in Valencia.
The most amazing and perhaps one of the best restaurants we ever visited was Ca Sento, which according to the guides is one of the best in Spain, let along Valencia. I can’t remember what I ate, but it was a spectacular gluten-free meal without any compromise to taste.
But we also ate in a tiny tapas bar behind the cathedral, where we sheltered from the rain. Superb red wine was a couple of euro a glass, food was tasty and wholesome, and the atmosphere was best described as Spanish and local. They knew about gluten too!
And then there was the incident in another fine seafood restaurant in the city centre. My wife was wearing the red tee-shirt dress with the stars, she’d bought in Nice. When we had finished, she needed to pay a visit and climbed a spiral staircase at the side of the dining room to the toilets upstairs. As she came down, I walked over to meet her and I heard a fat English lady at my side say something like, “Who does she think she is in a dress like that? She must be nearly fifty!”
Not a bad compliment for someone of fifty-nine.
I shall always remember Valencia. But I may never go back!
Perhaps I will and perhaps I won’t.
The Anonymous Widower 