I have been in Italy for a week. Two dongles (you know, those devices with which one fished the Internet in the Stone Age) and four home visits later, a giant satellite was delivered today. It's on the roof and one of the laptops is purring Wifi. Although you do have to connect it with a cord. My Macbook doesn't even have an opening for those kinds of old-fashioned devices anymore. That's why I spend the day still dongling, and softly sighing.

My statement that I am available for hire for weddings and important parties (ask if I don't want to be in the Netherlands on your big day and I assure you; wherever I am it rains and in the Netherlands the sun shines) holds true again this year. Delightful strong winds and tropical downpours that create outdoor pools in unexpected places like, for example, the main road to our house.

Today’s read. I am completely into the biography of Wim Kieft. When I regularly heard him sniff during football commentary, I honestly often thought he had spent the night before hanging out with a few lovely ladies over a mirror. But that he stuffed half a million in his nose in the solitude of hotel rooms, sat alone in the bushes for hours, or left a hotel through the kitchen because he had no money to pay the bill. I find it disillusioning. And I find Wim Kieft more sympathetic with the page. May I ask you to buy the book? It helps him with his debt restructuring (still four hundred thousand to go) and I am sure your love will devour it. And yes, also a Grazia for a shot of street style.

And then I suddenly walked in the harbor of Brindisi from where you can sail to Greece. This seemed to me a prrrrima little boat.

This is so vacation. Feet on the dashboard and not caring about a fresh pedi.