Borrel met de buren

Here, as promised, is my first report from the edge. The edge of my garden, to be precise. Borrel met de buren. Drinks at our next-door neighbours'.

It was as tense and edgy as only middle-aged, middle-class gatherings can get. And, the guests being middle-aged and middle-class, the drink of choice was wine. My wine drinking is as eclectic as my writing. Basically, I grab anything that comes within my reach. Red, white, pink, green, black. Any colour will do.

This is a good technique to employ at a party where you don't know people that well. Grab a bottle of wine and take it around the room (garden in yesterday's case) and serve fellow guests. Everyone likes having their glass filled. It's a good excuse to approach people. And you keep your own glass full without looking like a raging alkie.

The beer was limited to Amstel Pils. Good enough reason to stick to wine. Though I did notice an empty bottle of Duivels Bier. Quite a good sign. It was Peter's birthday so I took along a bottle of my beer as a present. Another good icebreaker.

Next doors' flat was built as a mirror image of our own (architect Piet Kramer, king of Amsterdam bridges). Divergent refurbishments have left them quiet different in layout. And theirs isn't full of junk like ours is. Dolores won't have a party because of the mess. But what was most striking was how much bigger both their flat and garden appear. I'd swear that hey have 50% more space than us. Compare and contrast the sheds in the photo. Ours, with the emergency corrugated plastic roof, theirs with electricity.

The European Championship is a great boon for social inadequates like myself. It's a great topic of conversation. Football in general is. But a tournament brings it to the fore even more. Of course, when in the company of the Dutch, I'm careful not to express my real sentiments about their team. Because my overwhelming love of Dutch football might embarrass them. Or something like that.

My first venture into the world of extreme drinking was quite successful. We returned with the same number with which we set out: four. Everything else is just a matter of opinion.