If the world stops turning

It must have been somewhere in September 2005, the first time I saw Matthijs. He walked into the hall of the Plantage studio complex. Light blue jacket, jeans, sneakers. His Holland Sport outfit, I should say. He walked in a straight line to the rack where the newspapers were and walked back with the whole package, with his typical gait. I hadn't come for Matthijs, but for my beloved who had said ‘I'm doing it’ two weeks earlier for a new project for VARA.

He had actually waved goodbye to television. He wanted to write a book, create something that would last. But then came that phone call. Whether he might want to come up with a new program. There was little more than a title and a presenter. But the title was good and the presenter was just on his list of people he would ever want to work with. Although he only had three weeks until the first broadcast. Which was live.

De Wereld Draait Door became a constant in our lives. Both on TV (my beloved made his own favorite program with Matthijs) and privately. Every Friday we gathered with a group of friends at the bar in the studio, I even believe I had my own bottle of wine (I am quite specific in my choices when it comes to wine) and my beloved still drank Stolichnaya-cola and on a crazy day a Limoncello as well. I watched from the stool at the spectacle. Aretha Franklin filling the studio to get everyone in the right mood, my beloved walking around with scripts and earpieces and clapping the hardest of everyone to pump up the atmosphere, to studio habitué Martin Bril, to Roel van Velzen who, like a Dutch Jamie Cullum, brought the subjects of the media broadcasts to an end.

When the editorial team found out I was pregnant, my beloved had of course told nothing, suddenly there was a onesie with the DWDD logo on his desk one Wednesday afternoon in May. I will never throw that away.

Two weeks before my delivery, I cycled all over the city. To Tip de Bruin for tuxedo shoes, past The English Hatter for a bow tie. My beloved was too busy with the broadcast, but in the evening he would have to wear a tuxedo. He didn't have time to go to the hairdresser. Since then we have developed a superstition for long manes at special events.

I dropped off the items at the studio and slipped into an emperor dress from DKNY. That at least fit over my belly. In the arena of Carré, three round benches had been placed. On each bench sat the team of nominees for the Televizier Ring. Except for that of DWDD, which was as good as empty because this team had to work.

A bit reluctantly, I sat next to Karin, Matthijs's wife. Shortly after half past eight, Matthijs, Marc-Marie, and a man joined. That Robert ten Brink opened the envelope, paused for three seconds, and then said: ‘Hey, that's surprising... The winner is... With 47 percent of the votes’, followed by the title of the program we had first heard two years earlier, I will never forget.

Tonight, fifteen years later, we see the very last DWDD. My beloved wanted to create something that would stick. That book never came, but I think this program has also succeeded a bit. And maestro Matteo, how will the girls and I miss you on weekday evenings (‘Hey, there's Matthijs’), but the world of endless lunches on a beautiful summer day with all our loved ones together will keep turning. Forever.