I was invited to the
Netherlands, Amsterdam, to be specific, to appear
on a talk show. Nothing unusual in that, and one
would assume that I would take a direct flight to
Schipol Airport. But for some reason (which remains
a closely guarded secret between my travel agent
and I) I took a plane to Brussels, to be collected
there by a limo for the two-hour drive to Amsterdam.
I insisted that the chauffeur
be male, gorgeous, blonde, young and Dutch! No complications
arose from that request, for the country, small
as it is, teems with young males fitting that description.
And there he was, my beautiful uniformed chauffeur.
Bas was his name, and so nervous that he called
me Mevrouw. I found it very charming, but
made a small mental note to call the hire company
and remind them that although the Princess (of Wales)
was sadly no longer with us, titles are still to
be adhered to.
And so Bas and the Baroness
bumped over the Belgian boarder into the province
of Brabant, and on to the city of Breda. One does
not need to leave the highway, but Mevrouw
needed a pee, and no highway-squatting for me, so
Breda it had to be. Noticing a charming little bar,
I ordered him to pull in so I could indulge in a
small La Trappe Quardrupl (a seasonal Trappist monk’s
beer, 10%!) Bas didn’t flinch at my request,
for in Brabant, real women (or is that wild women?)
drink beer, but he did point out most diplomatically
that the bar I had chosen had certain rules.
Darling, I am not lying.
Rule no. 1 was that ladies had to remove their clothing,
place it in a plastic (refuse!) bag and enjoy their
drinks wearing only their lingerie. Rule no. 2 was
that men had to follow the same ritual and enjoy
their drinks in the nude! Tempted tho’ I was
by this extraordinary idea (I made a quick check-list
of what lingerie I was wearing …black lace
and suspenders…can’t go wrong with that!)
but felt that Bas in the nude, me in whatever, could,
just possibly, lead to natural biological changes
in him, and thereby cause a little embarrassment.
But then I thought, ‘silly me!’ We were
in Brabant, not Gauteng and Bas was Dutch, not English.
Whether or not I made
it to Amsterdam, I don’t remember. Some vague
images of lights and applause, but what I do remember
was Bas. Heavenly.
Oh well, there is always
tomorrow, and that’s the tragedy of life.
We are here today, and we’re here tomorrow!
Smile darling, believe me, it’s never that
bad. Kiss, kiss?