Matt, Lucas

Matt was over to stay at the weekend. It's always great to see him. For many reasons. Not only smugness. There's a bit of genuine affection. I've only known my brother and Henry longer.

Matt stayed with us twice on this trip. Once on his way to Vollenhove and again on the way back. (I'd have given him the Stout to try, but there's been none around for ages.) Old friends have a tendency to dwell on the past. Not me and Matt. We didn't go further back than the shed night*. That was only three and a bit years ago. The same day as my first archive visit.

He mostly spoke about the philosophy of history. I think that's what it was. It wasn't the history of philosophy, I'm sure about that. Very abstract stuff. In return, I expounded my theory of beer style evolution. We know each other well enough that he didn't bother feigning much interest.

Saturday, I had a party to take him to. Lucas's birthday. (I bought him stainless steel saucepans as a present.) Thankfully, it didn't end too late. Getting home with both ankles intact is always a relief.

Lucas calling on Sunday morning was a surprise. "Can I bring around an Al Murray video for Mike to borrow?" "Sure. What about a pub visit?" Matt had requested one pub visit during his time in Mokum. Unwaged, as often, too many Amsterdam nights out would soon, as so many rats, eat away his small pile of euros.

"Let's go to the pub by the bridge." I suggested. "Do you mean Ter Brugge, or the small one?" Lucas replied. "The posh one." "OK". Matt, as so often, said nothing. Couldn't have any objections, then.

"Can I come, dad?" "Only if you don't whinge, Lexie."

The yuppie pub by the bridge isn't a long walk. I'd name it, except that I won't. Another one of my things. It's a beery-ish pub. Maybe forty in total, across bottled and draught. Filliers jenever is on the menu, too.

"I'll have a witbier" Lucas said. "Whatever you're having." was Matt's tradition-true response. "Can I have cake?" You can probably guess who said that. His name starts in an a and ends in a lexie.

Over the years, I've learned a few things about luring the kids into pubs. Laying a trail of sweets is number 1. Much less trouble than number 2: giving them my full attention. I bought five Belgian bonbons. (I told you it was posh.) Five euros is a small price to pay for fifteen minutes peace.

We didn't drink quickly enough. I was barely three sips into La Chouffe number two when Lexie said "Can we go home now?" "You wanted to come." "Dad, finish your beer." Lexie tried to forcefeed me Chouffe. One bonbon more bought me enough time to finish my beer in relative peace.

Lucas cycled off to happy hour at the Hell's Angels bar. We strolled back home. "Tell me more about Slovenian philosphers." I said to Matt, as I drifted into my Sunday afternoon doze. I awoke in time to catch the last 25 minutes of Polizeiruf.



*When, at the 50th birthday party of other university friends, Matt and I had to sleep in the shed. That's telling you your place.