I just noticed that people can rate these blogs... Trust me, if you've something better to do the next few minutes than read this entry, then go right on ahead. I can't imagine it being terribly exciting and I want to try and keep my average. My first blog, which was essentially along the lines of "I survived the trip here" and a quick description of the many shades of s*** that I felt, scored a lowly one star! Out of five! Seemingly some people weren't all that thrilled to read that I was still alive.

You also may have noticed that whilst I typed s-h-i-t. the hosting site blushed and used asterisks in an attempt to save your minds from corruption by my filthy mouth. Don't think for a moment that I did it myself. In fact, I'm more likely to come home with an even bluer vocabulary. I'm presently in the Netherlands. And. I've been shocked. Not by the women writhing about on TV waiting for me to call them. Not by the "coffee" shops where you're probably not going for the coffee. Not even by the girls parading about in their underclothes who've forgotten to close the curtains (in the Red Light District).

I saw an ad, in primetime, that used the f-word.

Yeah, it was in English in a country of Dutch-speakers, but everyone understands Engels anyway. The ad was for New York Pizza and was a mafia spoof - with the tagline "Damn f***ing Tasty". There's three different ones, it's meant to be a viral campaign so it's interesting, and you can watch it at http://www.newyorkpizza.nl/. It's not only for the internet and it's not bleeped, it might even turn into a trivia question one day.

Anyway, back to our regular reportage: when last I wrote a ways back, I was in Dublin counting the minutes until I could leave. I don't want people to get the wrong impression about the city but, for me, it was time to go. There was so little I was enthusiastic about doing, I even went to the movies on each of my remaining days; watching the new Indy Jones and Priceless (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0482088/). I did fleetingly mention last time that there was only one more thing I wanted to do in Dublin. I didn't mention what it was: the GAA (Gaelic Athletic Association) Museum. Inside you learn all about, and even get to try, some of the indigenous sports of Ireland: hurling, Gaelic football and whatnot. Apparently. I was denied once again. The first time was because they were having the last day of a conference in the adjoining facility regarding banning cluster bombs. It was the last day and, consequently, there were undoubtedly some big guns (no pun intended) in attendance. Security was tight and getting to the museum would have involved a series of escorts and phone calls ensuring that....I don't know what. That I wasn't a pro-cluster bomb nut eager to get my opinion across? "See everyone? I've brought one along with me, they're not so bad!" Anyway, it all seemed too hard and I figured it'd be much easier next time 'round.

This time, there was something far deadlier than cluster bombs keeping me locked out. It was: Neil Diamond. Sorry mum... He played a concert at the stadium housing the museum the night before and his septegenarian fans trashed the place. Nah, not really, they were just packing up and it was too dangerous or something. So, me and the GAA museum: not to be.

Strangely enough there seemed to be an opposing force to the GAA Museum on my journey, one that I couldn't help but avoid, no matter how hard I tried. That force was.....comedian Adam Hills. I got sweet-talked into seeing him in Kilkenny at the Cats Laugh festival, intended to see him at Ballbofey (and got a short conversation instead) and - as I aimlessly wandered the streets of Dublin - I happened to stumble across a small A-frame advertising a regular comedy improv night. Sticky-taped to that was a handwritten note: "Tonight - Special Guest Adam Hills". I went along, as did 60 or so other mostly-locals, and saw a great night. He's funnier than _I_ ever thought he was. And, no I didn't bother going up to him. He's only a comedian.

Last thing I wanted to mention about Ireland was this weird store I saw: there was nothing in it. Nothing but catalogues. You look through the catalogue for what you want and type the associated number into a computer. The computer tells you whether it's in stock or not, then you fill in a little card, go to the cashier and pay. A few minutes later a bloke dawdles in from the stockroom or warehouse or somewhere, with your order ready to take home. It's called Argos and seems to be in the UK as well: http://www.argos.ie.

And that was Ireland. I jumped aboard a ryanair (also nicknamed "ruin-air" on account of their dodgyness) flight to Eindhoven, a city in the south east of the Netherlands. Eagerly awaiting my arrival was the lovely Linda, who was kind enough to host me for my next few days in the country.

Now you'd think by giving me somewhere to sleep, by feeding me, by letting me use the shower and all, that Linda might like me. I'm not at all sure that that's the case however as, what Linda seems to most enjoy, is attempting to kill me.

One evening she took me to a "Spin" class, the point of which - as far as I could decipher from the instructor's Dutch - was to ride a stationary bicycle to the point of cardiac arrest. The most imaginative attempt on my life though was the Handelse Processie. It seems to be part of the Dutch culture to go on very long walks, in very large groups. I, along with several thousand of my new friends, walked from Linda's village of Handel to the town of Valkenswaard - a mere 43km away. Thank goodness there are b*****-all hills in that part of the country. Don't think it was totally easy though. It _was_ over 30 degrees and, though we missed the hailstorm that hit further north, we had a heavy shower along the way. It took about 10 hours, with a few breaks every 10-15km. It was a religious procession, held since the early 1700s (!), but most people seemed to do it as a bit of fun (double: !). There was a fair bit of singing along the way that was a bit advanced for my Dutch, but I joined in with a few of the "Ave Maria's". As we neared the end, the streets were packed with people (no doubt interested to see just what kind of idiot walks 43km when they could just drive there). The walk itself finished inside their church, and I can only imagine how overpowering and welcoming it must have been in olden times to end it there. The procession itself actually extends over the weekend, walking _to_ Handel on the Saturday, then (the leg I joined in on) back to Valkenswaard on the Sunday.

I obviously hadn't prepared that well for the walk, it wasn't something I knew I was going to do before I got there. So you might be forgiven for thinking that the next day would find me hobbling about like an old man. Funnily enough, I was fine. Despite some hip and knee soreness nearing the walk-end (presumedly from it all being on roads and pavements) there was nothing wrong with me at all after a nice sleep-in. I could've done it all over again. But I'm not that stupid ;)

I was only joking about that Linda not liking me thing. I obviously take a lot of looking after and she's hosted me before - so she must know what she's in for ;) My deepest thanks go to her and, despite some weird habits like vacuuming her pets (admittedly, they do seem to like it), I reckon she's pretty cool.

Alright, I'm not quite up-to-date yet but I've had enough of this for now. There'll be some folk who'll get a notification of this blog and will be expecting to see their names in print so, as not to disappoint: Monique, Florian, Tim and Suuz :)

You'll hear more about them, along with all my other adventures, in my next, eagerly-anticipated blog (surely _someone's_ looking forward to these...).

seeya :)