Dream On Dreamer

There's quite a large chance that when I was born I was supposed to be Dutch.

As it is I'm not that far off as a half-Austrian (courtesy of Dad) but I have fallen into the rabbit hole of depression since returning from (yes, just five days of) Amsterdam - I want to go back.

I long to cycle the streets of Amsterdam with my hair flowing out behind me, ringing my tinny bicycle bell and shaking my head at the tourists, as they step without looking out into the cycle lanes.

I want to finish each day at the chic boutique that I work at (it's very chic and I dress all the windows myself. And on quiet days I read Vogue and write with a feathery pen in an expensive jotter, secretly behind the counter so no-one can see) with a walk to the local market, smiling at the locals as I wheel my bike beside me.

I'll fill the flowery basket with fresh, organic produce, fresh bread and meats and then I take the scenic route to my little house boat, not far from Anne Frank's house on the Westermarkt.

I won't be upset when the canal bus passes by and will instead wave and smile at the tourists taking pictures of the boats as they pass. Weekends will be filled with long walks around the city and sunny afternoons sitting out on the deck of the houseboat with a book and some mint tea.

I so want to go back. I have emailed an employment agency in Amsterdam to see if they have any work for an English speaker. Rocker embraces the idea too. We could be very happy together in Holland, until Canada says we can come.

*Sigh*

Apologies for posting this picture of the bike again, I just love it. It's the bicycle of my dreams.