Page 16 of A New Life in Amsterdam

Over the next few weeks, I live in a building site.

Every now and then Erik drops more materials off with me and the houseboat feels increasingly smaller.

It seems his estimation that he could do most of the work in one week was far too optimistic.

It is like a huge can of worms, and as one thing is done, another problem seems to appear.

Then the inevitable finally happens when he tells me that I must move out so that he can arrange for the fumigating of my home to make sure there is no chance of the woodworm returning.

It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I don’t fancy being fumigated, so I happily oblige.

Finally, once it is safe to return and I have checked out of the seedy hotel I stayed in when I first arrived, I return home to find Erik already at work as I weave my way through new kitchen units and yet more planks of wood.

‘Today I’ll be done,’ says Erik with a big smile.

‘That’s great news. What a headache it’s been.’

‘Ah, this is how it is when you start. But you’ll have a brand-new kitchen by the end of the day. You’ll be happy.’

‘Thank you, so everyone keeps telling me.’

He is right, and by the end of the day, the pale blue worktop and co-ordinating kitchen cabinets look wonderful. The wooden flooring is also finally perfectly level.

‘It looks amazing. Thank you, Erik. What a difference.’

‘You see, it’s worth doing the job right. No point taking short cuts, it needs to be done properly.’

‘You’re so right. I will bear that in mind tomorrow when I start on the sanding.’

By the next morning, I am eager to start work, and as instructed by a YouTube video, I start with brushing the floor.

Then I don my goggles, ear defenders and mask and press the start button on the sander.

Even with the ear defenders, the noise is deafening.

I brace myself for the pull of the drum sander, but it almost takes me flying across the room as it kicks off.

A harsh scrape appears along one of the boards where I have viciously sanded the area while being preoccupied with keeping my balance.

I am horrified that I have managed to mark a brand-new floorboard in seconds.

It seems I am not as cut out for this as much as I thought I was.

How does YouTube make it look so easy? The woman I watched glided across the floor like a gracious ballerina, while I was more like a bull in a china shop.

I take a breather and switch off the machine to try and compose myself.

Eventually, I tell myself I can do this and refuse to admit defeat.

I start again and, knowing how much force to expect this time, I grip on harder and make sure my feet are properly balanced so I don’t cause the floor any further damage.

This time, I manage to glide it along and instantly see that it is making a difference, even if there is dust and grit all over the living area and it ends up surrounding me like a smog.

Thank goodness I have only painted the bedroom walls so far.

Despite the mask, I cough and splutter and stop for a moment, waiting for the air to settle. It’s a win.

Once I finish brushing up all the debris, I start varnishing the floor.

I want to get started on it as it’s going to take an age to dry.

I’ve no doubt it will feel like one of those dodgy nightclubs with a sticky floor for ages if I don’t do it properly.

I remind myself that patience is needed and feel content as I paint on the first strokes of varnish, revealing a glossy dark-wood floor.

Ten minutes later, my body forces me to remember Abe’s advice about the kneepads.

Now I see what he meant. My knees are killing me.

In desperation, I find two tea towels and wrap one around each knee using some masking tape. Thank goodness nobody can see me now.

I sing to myself as I varnish the floor and start to see the rewards of my hard work. Two coats and the floor will look like new. But then, as I am screeching out a song, I think I hear a knock on the door.

I groan as I stand up, since I can’t seem to move nowadays without groaning. Then I look down at the tea towels on my knees as I head to the door. Oh no. I have no choice but to open the door like this. It’s Abe, and the first thing he does is look down at my knees.

I try pulling at the masking tape but practically manage to strangle the circulation around my legs and end up plopping backwards as I stumble.

‘Are you okay?’

‘No, not really. Would you mind coming in and helping me cut this tape off, please? I think I’m stuck.’

I manage to limp my way to the kitchen drawer where I keep the scissors, and pass them to Abe as I plonk myself down on the old chair. He proceeds to patiently cut off my home-made kneepads.

‘Never again. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

‘Well, it’s just as well I came over to give you these. I was off to work but wanted to see if you needed them before I went. I guess you did,’ he says, handing me a pair of proper kneepads.

‘Thank you. You’re amazing. And my knees thank you very much…’

‘No problem. It’s looking so much better in here already.’

‘I’m glad you think so. I guess I’m lucky that Erik is such a great carpenter. He’s made a huge difference.’

‘Well, that and what you’ve done so far. You’ve done a lot of the work, too. You should be proud of it.’

‘Thank you. I guess you can buy anything, but putting the work in yourself feels so much more worthwhile.’ He doesn’t need to know about all the mishaps I have had.

‘For sure, and talking of hard work, I’d better get over to the cafe. Good luck with the rest of the varnishing.’

‘Thanks again for the kneepads, and good luck at work!’

Good luck at work? Shouldn’t I have said, have a nice day, or something else?

As Abe heads off into the distance, I return to finishing the floor with the help of his kneepads.

The sooner this boat is sorted, the sooner I can get out and explore the wonderful sights of Amsterdam and maybe meet more new people.

If everyone is as lovely as Abe and Beatrix, then I can’t wait to make new friends.

By mid-afternoon, I have finished the varnishing and stand back to look at my work.

I am delighted with the result. It almost looks like new in here.

The damp odour has been replaced by the fresher smells of polish and varnish.

My final job of the day is to bang some nails into the wall of the living area and hang the painting of Amsterdam that I picked up at the flea market.

I only need my Persian rug to be delivered once the floors are dry and the interior decorating will be complete, which will then leave the job of the outside renovations – but one step at a time.

In the meantime, I will be hobbling around on tiptoes trying to avoid walking on the wet patches of varnish, which feels a bit like playing hopscotch as I pray I don’t lose my balance.

As I contemplate going outside to get a quick snack, I see that Debbie has messaged me. I had let Hannah and Debbie know that I was safely in Amsterdam when I arrived but, apart from that, I haven’t spoken much to either of them since I’ve been so busy.

How’s it going there? Send pics of the work you’ve done. I can’t wait

to see it. I bet it’s gorgeous. Nigel is driving me up the wall here and

I’ve never been so jealous. I know I’ve said it before, but I really

wish I could flit off to live on a houseboat.

It might sound idyllic but I’m not sure Debbie would have enjoyed all the grafting and stress there has been. I also haven’t told her about the woodworm incident. Nobody sees that side of things, and it’s still very cold in here. It’s only the hard graft that is keeping me warm.

You know you’re welcome anytime. Whenever you want to escape, come

over and stay.

I might take you up on that. I need a break. If Nigel moans about us

not having a new lawnmower once more then I might not be responsible for

my actions!

I think of my life back home and the competition between the neighbours to have the best garden, the best cars and the newest kitchen on the street.

No wonder I was getting caught up in a retail frenzy there.

As far as I’ve seen, it seems much more relaxed here, and nobody cares what anyone owns.

Walking around that flea market with people buying gorgeous pre-loved vintage clothes made me realise that having the latest of everything is a waste of time.

It’s much better to have quirky, interesting pieces rather than the same as everyone else.

As I lock up the houseboat to venture out for lunch, I think of Abe.

He’s quirky. He’s not your Mr Darcy type at all, but I think that is what makes him so attractive.

Beatrix is a lucky lady. I would much prefer someone laid back and cool with a greying ponytail than a dashing man in a suit who could potentially tread on anyone to get what he wants.

I couldn’t imagine being with a snobby, stuck-up man who irons his socks or his underpants and wants everything perfect.

Give me stubble and a dirty laugh any day!

Like men, I like my food casual and so I search for a place that sells fast food through a hole in the wall.

I love the food from the automatiek that is almost like a vending machine with hot food; it’s so different.

Where else can you open a sliding window and remove a warm ham and cheese croquette for two euros?

I always wonder what goes on behind the sliding window.

There are no staff around, and it is as if there is some robot behind the sliding window making fresh croquettes and burgers.

I wonder why anyone needs fancy food when you can munch on one of these mouthwatering masterpieces!

Heading back home with a full tummy, I realise how happy I am starting to feel here. The loneliness I felt back home has been replaced by a sense of satisfaction. For the first time in years, I feel content with myself and am not afraid of the future and what it may or may not bring.

I arrive home to the houseboat to see a delivery man knocking at the door. He has my huge nomad rug all wrapped up in plastic.

‘So sorry, I didn’t realise you were delivering today,’ I say, as I rush up to him.

‘We were told we could only delay your delivery until today. We were in the area, so we thought we’d drop it off.’

‘Umm, it’s still a bit soon, but that’s okay.’ The floorboards are going to take forever to dry but I suppose I can leave it in the plastic in a corner for the time being. At least it’s here ready for when the floor does dry.

I squeeze past my glorious rug as the delivery guy leaves it with me.

I can already see that it is going to fit perfectly once I can put it down.

While part one of my superficial houseboat makeover is practically done, I won’t send photos to Hannah and Debbie until I’ve been to the market for my tulips.

I want it just right before I send them the final ‘after’ photos.

Forty-eight hours later, when the floor is dry and I can put my nomad rug out, it couldn’t look better.

Since I want to get some tulips for the finishing touch, I decide to head to the Bloemenmarkt early.

As I walk along, I begin to think how I may need to get a bike with a basket, just like that woman I saw on my first day here.

That might have to be my one last investment.

I probably can’t consider myself a true Amsterdam canal dweller until I own a bike and leave it propped up on the side of my houseboat.

As I envisage myself riding along the endless cycle lanes, I become excited at the idea.

The funny thing is though, despite all the bikes around, I haven’t noticed a cycle shop yet.

The floating flower market was one of my favourite places the last time I was in Amsterdam with Nicky.

Here, flower shops lined up in barges along one of the many canals sell every kind of tulip imaginable, along with exotic orchids, geraniums and narcissus depending on the time of year.

I might be starting a new life in a new country, but if I could have imagined myself alone in my fifties, this is just what I would have dreamed of.

Living the life of a nomad and walking around a flower market is not a bad way to live at all.

The scent of red roses wafts over me as I admire a bucket full of flowers in bloom.

Tall, bright sunflowers sit alongside them, making the stall a colourful sight.

I admire all the vibrant shades of the different flowers, despite the autumn season.

I have to force myself to remember that I am here for tulips and not to fill the houseboat until it looks like someone’s greenhouse.

With a big smile on my face, I try and barter over a colourful bunch of everlasting tulips displayed at a stall.

The selection is too pretty to narrow down a choice of colours, so I’ve gone for them all.

The stallholder wraps the mix of pink, red, purple, yellow and white tulips together as they are all merged into one.

In no hurry to get back, I take a walk along the market with my bouquet.

There must be around twenty stalls on the barges, and I stop at one of them to look at the harvest collection of ghostly white pumpkins sat among the most glorious orange ones.

One juicy pumpkin catches my eye, but as much as I would love to take it home with me to decorate the outside of the houseboat, it would be far too heavy to carry all the way home.

So, I make myself move on and window-shop at some of the stores on the other side of the street.

I heard the market has been open since around 1862, but I can’t help wondering whether the neighbouring shops were selling the cannabis-patterned socks that are on display back then.

I presume not. Nowadays, they seem to have everything here, including tacky boxer shorts and ceramic tulips, but I avoid all the souvenirs of Amsterdam and instead plump for a small coffee shop on a corner to rest my feet.

I order a hot chocolate, wondering if it’s anywhere near as good as one of Abe’s.

I wish I could stop thinking of his hot chocolate – or anything else about him, for that matter.

I tell myself that Abe isn’t the only hot chocolate maker in Amsterdam and this one will be just as lovely.

But it’s not. It’s nowhere near as creamy and gorgeous.

Nothing compares to anything Abe does because he is so lovely, and I am beginning to realise that I have a hugely embarrassing midlife crush on my next-door neighbour, who also has a very lovely wife.

The further I stay away from him the better.