Postcard from the next beach across

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My landline, mobile, email, sms, skype, snail mail, wassup, facebook messenger, twitter, DM, my door when somebody knocks… there is just so much to not worry about nowadays. The past few nights, while our weather has been influenced by all of those tropical cyclones, I have ridden with my son (he on his scooter part way, the rest in my box bike) a few beaches South of here where the people have prettier daughters. On the way there’s a skate park where my son drops into the bowl after dark—my god you’ve never seen such glee on a face.

(btw there a so many satellites in the sky these days. When I was kid I barely saw any. I want to be looking at the night sky as i die).

So I was talking about my son and these bakfiets runs we’ve been enjoying. We have a headland to get over. The others we just ride around. I look at google analytics sometimes so know 90% of those who ever bother reading my blog don’t have the luxury of floating or surfing on see-through salt water each day the way we do around here. Culture is such a poor substitute for hedonism and nature, but good luck. And we’ve got it so good on our bikes here! (And our scooters, if we are eleven, and that is our fancy.)

You have to ask why we have it so good. Oh to live on the coast, with relatively low densities, with knowledge of back-streets and bike trails where you’re cycling is safer than in most parts of Holland! It’s a privilege for rich jerks, or jerks like myself who saw in the 1990s that terrace rows like the one I bought then would be worth occupying during the bad years of parties and drugs, pre gentrification. We’re jerks because we oppose high density development without any car parking, so others can join us. Why? I don’t understand it. I’m not like like neighbours with cars on the street who object.

That was five minute blog post, on which I’m going hit post, because sometimes it bugs me that each post I write is judged as though it were paid for.

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