While it was my intention to surprise my dad at his doorstep, I didn't much fancy simply staking out his front door. It's close to my mum's place in Nijmegen but not around the corner - and as my dad is out and about a lot I could've waited a very long time. On Saturday my mother helped me; she called him on his mobile number to get a hold of him. He picked up from Wijchen, where he was visiting his ex-girlfriend. My mum apologised for pressing a wrong button, having no intention to speak to either of them really. "Now I got you on the phone though," she continued, "I do have a package I need to deliver to you." My dad must have thought it concerned something for my sister Elvira, to take on his next trip to Greece. "Can you not fit it through the letter box?" he asked. He then proposed the package be left in the rear garden, but again my mum refused. "Right, I'll call you back, because my phone battery is almost gone." When he called back from his ex-girlfriend's landline number, I picked up. He didn't get it at all, thinking at first he might have dialled the UK by accident. But how, from a friend's phone? As I explained, the poor sod - bless him - struggled to breathe or to believe I was really in Nijmegen.



I met him later in the evening, after he had travelled from Wijchen to Nijmegen and - bizarrely perhaps - laid a pond in another friend's front garden. Not a mean feat by the way, to dig up the garden, lay the pond straight, dig it in and decorate it; all within two hours. I caught a ride some way there with my mum and strolled down the street. We spent some time at his friend's house, over wine and dinner. Both excellent by the way! After that, my dad drove me to his house in Molenhoek (lit. Mill Corner), a leafy village 10 miles or so South of Nijmegen. Here we waited for his friend and neighbour Paul to return from watching the football match. NEC Nijmegen had given the top club PSV Eindhoven a great scare, but couldn't get beyond a 0-0 draw. Paul therefore arrived a bit agitated ("It should have been 3-0!"). My dad being a PSV fan, and myself preferring NEC, we had no problem between the tree of us that it had been a good game and decent result. We then walked to a local pub, but with only crappy Dutch folk pop and bland lager on offer, I decided on the last bus back to town - despite their pleas. I tried to pay the bill, but as per usual my dad wouldn't let me. The bus of course came exactly on time (0.08) and I got home quick enough. Underway I texted my sister, but she was on her way home from another pub by then - so I was home quick enough..