I went to my sisters Marjo's home - well, home, the office near the train station she's anti-squatting - for dinner. She made hutspot, which for all you English people means mashed potatoes and carrots I think. She made it quite well. Her poetic friends Wouter and Okke joined us before we went to the Tempelier pub for a chat and, of course, beer.. At midnight, National Poetry Day (January 26) started, and as our throats we're all well lubricated Marjo easily convinced us this occasion needed to be celebrated. She convinced the guitarist at the bar to stop playing for a few minutes to allow us all to perform some poems. Sanne, who had joined us late, acted as the master of ceremonies. Marjo especially had a legendary performance. She had brought her suitcase full of booklets and poems - so she opened it and threw the contents to the crowd. It might have ended up in a row in any other pub, but at the Tempelier the patrons loved her for it. We got excellent feedback and thanks. And we drank. Oh did we drink.